The Exception to the Rules
by Nova Delphine
Summary: Her new role as Watchtower comes with it's own set of rules, but Chloe's always been an exception.
1. The Exception to the Rules

**Part 1: White Picket Fences that can't be fixed**

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Sitting on the floor in her dark apartment, Chloe Sullivan stared morosely at the thick document in front of her. Having been unable to stomach the first dozen sheets of legalese, she'd flipped directly to the final page and found the short, blank line at the bottom. The one with her name typed neatly beneath it.

When the crisp manila envelope had arrived that morning, stamped with a Metropolis law firm's return address, she'd known instinctively what was inside. Smacked with a sudden paralysis, she watched the fingers on her shaking hands curl too tightly into the package; her white-knuckled grip leaving the once pristine edges crumpled.

She'd spent several horrible seconds trapped in that shell shock before she'd been able to snap herself loose and drop the thing like it was on fire. Unwilling to chance a second panic attack, she'd turned away from the package and for the rest of the day, pointedly pretended it didn't exist while she tackled every tedious chore her apartment had to offer.

Now – eight solid hours of cleaning later – she had a washer and dryer in dire need of a week's recuperation, enough Lysol in the air to knock a horse on its ass, and divorce papers lying on her coffee table.

The little, mocking line went blurry on the page as the tears she'd been fighting off all day started gaining ground. Swiping angrily at her eyes, she bit her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood and knew this was one band-aid that had to be ripped off fast. Snatching up a pen she'd long ago swiped from the Planet's supply room, she pulled the plastic cap off with her teeth and jerkily scratched out her signature.

The deed done, she choked out a sigh that could have easily passed for a sob and spit the pen cap out of her mouth, watching it skitter across her thoroughly scrubbed hardwood.

"And there you have it," she whispered hoarsely. "I'm a 23 year-old divorcee."

Slumping against the table in defeat, she slowly slid the offending pages as far away as her short arm could manage and let her forehead fall onto the worn surface. After a mere five months – most of which had been spent separated – her marriage was over and Chloe Olsen was no more.

She could feel a migraine building between her eyes so she pressed her forehead harder into the table, as if the action could somehow squelch the pain and erase the fact that this was actually happening. Right now, she was supposed to be skipping off to a nice, normal happily ever after. There was supposed to be 2.5 kids, or whatever it was nowadays, and a white picket fence neither of them would be any good at fixing, and they were going to be Martha and Jonathan Kent, the Sequel, because he was Jimmy and she was Chloe, and it was supposed to work.

"Chloe?"

The surprising call of her name, accompanied by the feeling of a large hand gripping her shoulder, shocked Chloe right out of her mourning and straight into a full-blown shriek. Adrenalin pumping, she bolted upright and barely noticed the sting of her knees smashing into the coffee table, sending it and everything on it toppling over. Flying to the opposite side of the room, she grabbed the first weapon she could get her hands on and turned to face her attacker, wielding a lamp that was still plugged into the wall.

"Chloe! It's just me, it's alright!"

Straightening out of her fighter's stance at the sound of her intruder's familiarly distorted voice, Chloe squinted through the darkness at the man who had suddenly materialized in her apartment and immediately recognized his green leather fashion statement.

"Oliver!" She screamed as she flipped on the lamp she had planned on clubbing him with and slammed it back on top of the bookshelf she'd snatched it from. "What the hell is the matter with you? I'm having a heart attack over here!"

"I'm sorry!" He sputtered, the words twisted through his voice distorter.

"Turn that stupid thing off!" She snapped, bracing her hands against her knees as she tried to convince her racing heart that she was not, in fact, about to be murdered.

"Sorry," Oliver offered again, reaching up to the electronic device at his throat and cutting the tiny unit's power, "but the lights were all off. I thought you weren't home."

At his own words, his head tilted inquisitively. "Why are you sitting around in the dark?"

"Seriously?" She scoffed as she jerked upright and slammed her hands on her hips, arching a threatening brow. "You think you're entitled to questions right now?"

"Sorry," Oliver apologized yet again, but Chloe swore she saw his eyes roll behind his shades.

"Glasses off too," she barked as her fear dissipated and aggravation assumed its place. "I won't have you shooting me patronizing looks."

Visibly relaxing at her snark, Oliver removed the shades with a deliberate flourish and lowered himself smoothly to the arm of her couch, barely able to restrain the smirk creeping across his lips.

"So," she began mildly, "you intended on snooping around my apartment because…?"

"You think I'm spying on you?" He chuckled incredulously.

"Hey," Chloe sniped back, arms folding defiantly across her chest, "you're the one who said you only came in because you thought it was empty."

"Ease up on the drama Sidekick," he chastised good naturedly. "I came in to wait for you cause we need to talk."

First she was blinking and then she was shouting. "You scared the crap outta me cause you need to chat? It's called a phone!"

"I did call!" Oliver protested, holding up two fingers, "twice!"

Chloe had an index finger wagging at him and a rant all set, only to suddenly remember that she'd shut off her phone at some point between her fifth load of laundry and her massive closet re-org.

Her open mouth snapped closed and Oliver had the good grace to simply smile.

"Whatever," Chloe said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Skip to the point."

"Sure," he agreed, "but before we do, are you okay? You're not burnt are you?"

By way of reply, Chloe stared at him in strangely.

"You're wearing your coffee," he explained, his finger circling in the direction of her chest.

Looking down to find a new Rorschach pattern on her shirt, Chloe let out a sigh and started trudging towards her bedroom, ready to bid adieu to yet another perfectly good piece of clothing. "I'm gonna go change."

"I'll buy you a new one!" Oliver called after her as he bent down and began picking up the carnage the air born coffee table had caused. "Maybe a new table too… you really put a beating on this one."

"It's called second-hand Mr. Queen," Chloe yelled back as she entered her room and went to the dresser. "They come that way!"

Pulling out a fresh shirt and tossing it on her bed, Chloe began the uncomfortable process of wiggling out of her cold, wet top. When she was finally free, she realized her bra hadn't been spared and knowing she was in no mood to try and save it, she decided it was fated to meet the same untimely end as the shirt. Turning back to the dresser, she dug around for a new bra before reassembling herself as much as possible. When she was finally presentable again, she began making her way out of the room, but paused when she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror.

Her heart sank a little more with the knowledge that she looked awful. She was divorced and she looked like complete crap. Lovely.

Pushing aside her horror over her decidedly wretched appearance, she gave the room's light switch a forceful smack and stomped back out, ready to take her bitterness out on a billionaire.

"Alright, I'm clean," she announced acidly. "Now it's time to tell me what…"

Her words died when she entered the living room to find Oliver rooted in place, her divorce papers in his hands.

His eyes shot up to meet hers and she could plainly see the pity they held. Sensing the shell shock creeping back up on her, she tried for some sort of quip, but there was an awful lump lodging itself in her throat that made words impossible. The agonizing moment was stretching gracelessly along and with each beat of her thudding heart, the hot embarrassment crashing from her hairline to her collar bone got redder and redder.

Clearing his throat, Oliver spoke softly. "I'm so sorry."

Her humiliation complete, she made quick work of the space between them and with one desperate grab, clawed the papers away from him.

"This," she explained, voice trembling as she held the crumpled document in her fist, "is not up for discussion. Why are you here?"

"Chloe," he began, a consoling hand moving towards her elbow.

"Tell me why you're here or leave," she interrupted, side-stepping out of his reach.

His dark eyes swept over her and, at first, she was able to hold her ground under the scrutiny, but the seconds were ticking by way too slowly and his assessment was making her skin itch. She was just about to declare him officially banned from her home, when his jaw set and he slid into business mode.

"There's a warehouse, about two hours from here," he began succinctly, seriously. "I've been keeping an eye on their inventory and lately, it's starting to rub me the wrong way. I could be off base, but I'm not leaving it alone 'till I'm sure."

Grateful for a topic that didn't make her heart ache, Chloe nodded and threw herself in head first.

"Who owns the warehouse?" She asked.

"Don't know," Oliver answered simply, "and believe me, I've looked. Just one of the many things that's bothering me about this place."

"You want me to take a crack at it?" She guessed.

"Yes and no," he stated vaguely. "I was looking over the security schematics and the place isn't even a little tight. Thought perhaps I could take you straight to the source and let you have at it."

Narrowing her eyes, she weighed his words suspiciously.

"Forgive me, but I'm confused," she began, her tone sardonic. "I seem to recall a conversation a few months back where you told me – in no uncertain terms – that my Watchtower duties _should not, would not, and could never_, involve field work. What's changed?"

Unhappy to have his own words thrown in his face, Oliver huffed in mild exasperation.

"Victor's on the other side of the world and the fact that I can't dig up anything on this place is pissing me off."

"Huh," Chloe replied inelegantly. "Good to know my job description mutants with your mood swings."

"Anyways," Oliver dismissed, turning away from her and heading towards the living room window.

Watching him curiously, Chloe suddenly realized he was about to leave via the way he entered.

"Where are you going?" She asked, trotting over to his side.

"I'm leaving," he answered blankly, his eyes asking her how that wasn't obvious.

"We're not going to the warehouse?" She questioned.

The confusion on his face deepened and his eyes went back to assessing her, surprised by what he found in her expression.

"We're going to the warehouse?" He asked disbelievingly.

"Well, I promised you that I was gonna take on the JL full-time," she shrugged. "Seems to me that this sort of stuff is my responsibility now."

"You don't have to, not today," he assured her quietly, his hand hovering uncertainly above her shoulder for just a second before he resolved himself and let it rest against her.

"Don't," Chloe ordered kindly, patting his hand rather than throwing it off. "We're going. Now, what did you drive here?"

His brow was raised doubtfully, but it seemed as though he had packed up any opposition for the time being and that was good enough for her.

"Bike," he finally answered.

"Please tell me you have two helmets," she whined. "Me with a concussion would just be the cherry on top of today's crappy sundae."

"And here I thought your banter was broken," he said smiling, his face falling a second later when it dawned on him that it was one thing for her to make light of the events of this day, another thing entirely for him to do it.

"I'm sorry," he proclaimed immediately.

"You know," she noted dryly, "you've very nearly said _sorry_ half-a-dozen times tonight."

"Sorry," he offered with a smile.

"Ding, ding, ding!" She sang, though it was lacking her usual enthusiasm and patented mile wide grin. "Half-a-dozen it is."

"There may still be hope for you," he observed, the hand that had never left her shoulder squeezing gently.

"Yeah, yeah," she groused. "Go get the bike and I'll meet you out back in five. Gotta grab some supplies."

His nod was curt and before she could suggest that he try the door, he was ducking through the window and vanishing out of sight.

Sucking in a deep breath, she let her eyes wander down to the papers her fingers were still wrapped about.

"Well," she told her empty apartment as she picked up her steps and quickly set about gathering what she would need, "at least it beats cleaning."


	2. The Exception to the Rules Part 2

**Part 2: **_**The **_**Middle of the Middle of Nowhere**

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Tires screeching and gravel spitting, Oliver twisted the motorcycle expertly and it ground to an abrupt halt. Heaving forward from the momentum, Chloe's body stuttered, stopped, then finally came to grips with the fact that it was no longer flying.

Sliding his helmet off and hooking it to the handlebars, Oliver glanced at her over his shoulder.

"You can relax the death grip Sidekick," he smiled teasingly. "We're here."

Eyes wide behind her helmet's visor, Chloe snatched her tense arms away from his waist and winced as the exhausted muscles fiercely protested the exertion she'd just put them through for the past hundred minutes, or so. Slowly tugging her helmet off, she ran her hands through her disastrous hair and let herself breath a few times before swinging her leg off of the bike and standing – if only a little wobbly – on her own two feet.

"My driving rattle you?" Oliver inquired cheekily, a twinge of enjoyment over her disorientation evident.

"Please," Chloe sniffed indignantly, her chin jutting slightly. "I've travelled superspeed style with Clark. I can handle your wannabe _Fast and the Furious_ tendencies."

"Yeah, okay," Oliver chuckled despite her withering glare.

Choosing to drop the subject, she let her eyes roam around their bleak surroundings, taking in the trees, fields, dirt road, more trees… they really were in the absolute middle of the middle of nowhere.

"So where exactly is this warehouse?" She asked as she cast her eyes about again, just in case she'd somehow missed the place in the dark.

"About a mile, that a way," Oliver indicated, hooking his thumb to their immediate left.

"What? This isn't door to door espionage?" Chloe quipped, peeved at the prospect of hiking through the dark outcropping of trees he'd gestured towards. She was a reasonably athletic girl, but her clumsy streak had a way of rearing its ugly head when wandering over exposed tree roots with little to no light was required.

"Well, I thought about an arrival by float," Oliver answered while strapping his quiver and bow to his back, "but I worried that might kill our element of surprise."

"Just as well," Chloe mused as they set off towards the woods. "My princess wave is nowhere near perfected."

Turning to look down at her, Oliver grinned. "See, I like how you say that with just the right amount of condescension, as if you weren't high school Prom Queen."

"How'd you know that?" She gaped, head swivelling to meet his knowing smile.

"I've got a wide reach," he replied.

"Yeah? I'd say the fact that I have blabby friends is the more likely explanation."

"Don't fret," Oliver assured her as they entered into the thick of the trees. "It was made abundantly clear that you were a reluctant candidate."

Toeing her way carefully, Chloe snorted derisively. "What was especially fun was getting possessed by the harpy who actually wanted to be Queen and nearly burning down the school with everyone in it."

Pausing, Oliver shot her a look over his shoulder.

"Hmm," he wondered jokingly, "what is a meteor freak experience, Alex?"

"You've played this game before, haven't you?" she chirped, unwilling to raise her eyes from the ground she was navigating so warily.

When they finally reached the clearing, Chloe turned and stared triumphantly at the maze she had just conquered without a single embarrassing spill or painful wipe out. Sadly though, her sense of accomplishment was squashed when she fell back into step behind Oliver and found a rather imposing fence blocking the way.

"Freaking obstacle course," she muttered, digging into the bag at her hip and producing a particularly sturdy pair of bolt cutters that Lois had gifted her the year before.

Only a Lane or Sullivan could truly appreciate the value of really good bolt cutters.

"It's times like this when I wish I was Clark," she groused, straining against the metal as she began methodically clipping an entrance.

Without warning, the metal under her hands rattled loudly, sending her eyes left to right before she looked up just in time to watch Oliver vault effortlessly over the top of the fence and land soundlessly in front of her.

"I can live with being plain ol' me," he said with a shrug.

"_Plain_ _ol' me_,my ass," she grumbled as she continued labouring away. "You're a billionaire. And a show-off to boot."

"Being rich has nothing to do with scaling a fence," he grinned, reaching through the opening she had already created and giving her hands a break by taking over the cutting duties from his side.

"Still makes you a show-off," she stated plainly, watching as he made quick work of the fence and peeled the chain link away to allow her safe passage through.

Once inside, their voices went lower and their forward progress became spurts and stops as they duck and wove from one place of cover to the next.

"Very quiet," Chloe observed as they came to yet another stop and the warehouse finally came into full view. "You weren't kidding about the second rate security. Makes me wonder if we're wasting our time out here if nobody's even bothering to protect the place."

She waited for an answer and when none came, she turned to find Oliver scrutinizing her.

"What?" She demanded, her hand automatically reaching up and smoothing back her blonde hair self-consciously. She was struck by the futility of the action the second she did it. Running her hands through her hair wasn't going to change the fact that she had spent the entire day cleaning, had spent almost two hours with her head in a helmet, and had just finished slogging through the woods.

"Do you have a hat with you?" Oliver asked quietly.

Cheeks flushing, she shot him a scowl. "It's breaking and entering Oliver, not a red carpet. I don't care how bad my hair looks."

Reaching towards her, he flicked her nose gently.

"While your hair does look awful," he agreed in a rough whisper, causing her scowl to deepen, "I could care less about that. What concerns me is that someone could identify you."

"You're just considering this now?" She hissed, trying to keep her twitching hand away from her head. It wanted so badly to reach up and at least _try_ fix her hair.

"I never even thought of it," he replied simply. "Everybody else I work with wears a disguise."

"Clark doesn't," Chloe pointed out.

"Clark's not regular people, you already alluded to that."

Shrugging, she had to hand him that point.

"Well," she concluded, "I don't have any hats, glasses, or fake moustaches with me, so let's just make this work."

Unconvinced, Oliver stared at her thoughtfully. "I should have made you bring the helmet."

"Yeah, cause that wouldn't be awkward," she criticized, remembering the zero peripheral vision she had enjoyed while wearing the heavy thing. "Can we just do this?"

Oliver's eyes danced for one more second between her and the warehouse before he gave up with a frustrated grunt.

"We're headed to the southwest entrance," he directed. "According to the building plans I could get my hands on, we swing a left, head straight down the hall and hit the office at the end."

"Done," Chloe answered, rising slightly from her crouched position.

They took off in a dead sprint, Oliver easily pulling away from her so that by the time she made it to the door he had already skilfully picked the lock and was holding it open for her to pass through breathlessly.

"Gonna have to work on your cardio Sidekick," he whispered as he shut the door soundlessly behind him.

Knowing he was right, but rolling her eyes anyways, she made the left and headed down the hall, her movements quick and quiet.

As soon as Oliver had the office door opened, she slid inside and beelined towards the computer in the corner that was humming in stand-by mode. Taking a seat, she tapped in a few simple keystrokes and just like that, the system was her oyster.

"Way too easy," she mumbled sceptically, wondering again if Oliver's instincts about this place might have been off base.

Reading her thoughts, he tossed her a smirk. "Let's just get everything we need and reserve judgement until after we've given it the full once over, okay?"

"You're the boss," she quipped, her hand burying itself once again into her bag, this time emerging with a thin flash drive.

Within moments, she was cruising through the warehouse's records, dismissing worthless invoices and transferring potentially enlightening material with deft precision. Hanging over her shoulder, Oliver watched as her work quickly progressed, his steady gaze scanning the various files she marked as notable.

"Much longer?" He asked as his eyes and ears went to the door then back to her in one smooth movement.

"Quit hovering and stand guard," she admonished, elbowing him gently away. "I need a few more minutes to be sure."

Doing as he was told, he pushed off of the desk and took watch at the side of the door, his senses scouring for any signs of company.

Clicking through the final few files, Chloe paused when a particular name jumped out at her. Digging deeper, she noticed the name popping up a few more times.

"Hey," she murmured, instantly earning Oliver's attention. "Does the _Wynlie Group_ mean anything to you?"

He was at her side in a heartbeat, examining the documents displayed on the screen.

"Not a thing," he finally stated blankly.

"Well, it's the only place that shows up here more than once," she pointed out. "I think we'll have to find out a little bit more about them."

A sudden noise from the hallway stilled them both and their eyes darted to the door as they simultaneously deduced that their party had just been crashed.

"Finished?" Oliver questioned as he crossed back to his post at the door and began devising their exit strategy.

With several quick clicks, Chloe was pulling the flash drive out of the machine and returning the system to its peaceful stand-by setting. Moving to Oliver's side, she tipped her head around him to see what they had to deal with.

"Two guards," he whispered, the words barely discernible, "but they're not paying any attention. Shouldn't be a problem."

"I'm holding you to that," Chloe replied just as quietly, her hand going to the knob in a silent offer to throw the door open so Oliver could march out, arrows blazing.

In one fluid movement, his bow was loaded and he signalled his readiness with a nod.

Hand raised, Chloe counted to three with her fingers then pushed the door wide open, quickly stepping out of Oliver's way as two distinct strums from the bow's taut wire sliced through the air and reduced both guards to unconscious heaps on the floor.

Striding purposefully, Oliver left the office and began making his way down the hallway towards their exit as Chloe followed behind. Glancing at the two men as she passed, she couldn't help but slow and whisper a question to Oliver's retreating back.

"They're okay, right?"

Turning to face her, Oliver levelled her with a charming grin.

"It's just a little shock," he promised, "no worse than a taser."

"Have you not heard about the number of accidental taser deaths they've been reporting in the news?" She enquired.

"They're fine," Oliver assured, resuming his steps down the hall. "Get moving."

Still looking at the two prone figures, Chloe leaned down a little bit.

"I know this doesn't mean much," she murmured to them, "but I really hope you're both okay, alright?"

As soon as the words left her mouth, something heavy and considerably bigger than her slammed into her side and tackled her mercilessly to the ground. Her landing was pitiful at best and it, coupled with her absolute shock, left her struggling to even catch her breath from beneath her opponent's weight.

The sharp strumming sound cut through the air once again and suddenly, her attacker was gone and she was lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling.

"Chloe?" Oliver asked anxiously, kneeling at her side.

Looking to her right, she saw a third guard lying motionless on the floor, out cold and sporting the same 'taser' type of arrow as his colleagues.

"That's what I get for trying to be nice," she muttered through gritted teeth, her ribs screeching as Oliver pulled her swiftly to her feet

"No more dawdling," he griped, taking her hand and dragging her down the hall, out of the building and straight towards the fence.

This time there was no duck and cover or starts and stops, so between her protesting ribs and the pitiful cardio Oliver had already mentioned, she was well beyond winded by the time they slid through the chain link curtain and made for the trees. Luckily for her, the cover provided by the sweeping branches seemed to meet Oliver's satisfaction, so he willingly dropped his pace down to a level better suited for her current state of doubling over.

"We are really gonna have to get you into a gym," Oliver reflected, watching her huff her way noisily overtop of the gnarling roots.

"I just got flattened," Chloe pouted. "How about you cut me some slack and stop calling me fat!"

Slowing even more and taking her elbow into his hand, Oliver began guiding her helpfully through the undergrowth.

"You and I both know I never once called you fat," he disputed, pulling her to a stop before springing over a fallen tree, then reaching back to pick her up and lift her over easily. "We just have to get your sprinting up to par."

"Exercise is gross," Chloe complained, pulling a face and earning a laugh from Oliver.

"You're just grouchy cause you got sacked," he smiled.

"That guy was big!" Chloe argued. "If anyone should be hitting the gym, it's him!"

Oliver's laugh continued to echo as they forged ahead and soon enough, they had made their way out of the trees to find his precious motorcycle exactly where they'd left it.

"Well, I know this wasn't exactly the greatest of outings," Oliver admitted as they jogged down the slight embankment and headed towards the bike, "but I really do appreciate you helping out tonight, especially after everything you've…"

"Just say 'thanks'," Chloe interrupted quickly, softening her rebuke with smile.

"Thanks," Oliver offered immediately as he plucked her helmet off the back of the bike, shoved it onto her head and rapped the top of it loudly.

"Ow!" She complained, swatting at him half-heartedly; too tired and sore to put any real effort behind it.

She watched as he swung a long leg over the bike and reached forward for his own helmet, strapping it on as he got himself settled. Hesitating, her eyes went from him to the empty space behind him and she considered what the long ride ahead of them meant for her aching ribs. Reaching out a hand, she knocked on his closed visor to get his attention and waited for him to slide the tinted face shield back before she issued her request.

"In all seriousness," she said quietly, "please take it easy on the bike?"

Patting the seat behind him, he coaxed her into place with a smile.

"Please?" She emphasized, wrapping her arms securely around his waist.

"Only cause I owe you Sidekick," he promised. "Otherwise, you'd be shit outta luck."

With that, he snapped her visor closed, reached up to lower his own, then gunned the bike and took off – carefully – down the spitting dirt road.


	3. The Exception to the Rules Part 3

**Part 3: Times Three**

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Smiling tiredly, she watched as the waitress carrying a steaming cup of almond mocha wound her way through the crowd that filled The Talon and approached the tiny corner Chloe had sequestered herself into with her laptop.

"You are a Coffee Goddess," Chloe gushed as the teeming mug was deposited in front of her.

"And you're gonna twitch out when you finish that one," the girl stated, her own smile matching the tiny blonde's. "I may have to consider cutting you off for your own good."

"No need to worry," Chloe assured the younger woman, taking the mug between her hands and drawing in a deep, blissful breath of the brew's aroma. "I'm no lightweight when it comes to this stuff."

"You're a junkie," the waitress corrected, laughing again as she turned to tend to her other customers.

"Hey now!" Chloe called out, her voice full of mock offence. "I practically write your pay cheques! Show some respect!"

"Yeah, yeah," the waitress replied absently, her attention now focused on welcoming the couple that had just taken the table by the window.

Alone at last with her third coffee, Chloe paused to pay homage the fresh cup before gulping a greedy mouthful back, revelling in the sensation of the hot beverage warming her from the inside out. She knew she was giving a pretty dramatic display of her caffeine addiction, but seeing as she'd spent all hours of the previous evening sneaking around a secluded warehouse with Oliver, she really felt she was entitled. Plus, her ribs were still killing her and depriving herself of her beloved drink when she was in physical pain was all kinds of wrong and unnecessary.

Drawing in another satisfying gulp, she set her mug down and pulled her computer into her lap. She was trying to find out as much as possible about the Wynlie Group, but the poorly managed company had bounced back and forth through so many different hands over the years that she had spent most of her time just trying to keep track of all the details. She had hoped she'd be able to send Oliver something of use by the end of the day, but given that her research was generating lots of questions and zero answers, she was beginning to doubt she could meet her self-appointed deadline.

"Whoa!" An endearingly familiar voice suddenly exclaimed. "You look like crap!"

Grinning despite the insult, Chloe looked up and watched as her cousin and best friend made their way towards her.

"I love you too, Lois," she replied wryly by way of greeting, her smile drifting over to include Clark.

"Please, you know I adore you," Lois clucked as she swiped an empty chair from a neighbouring table and dragged it – loudly – to Chloe's alcove, oblivious to the death glare she was receiving from the patron who'd been saving it.

Trailing after Lois, Clark apologized to the offended customer, found an empty and available chair to replace the one Lois had stolen, then managed to find one more for himself before sitting down to join them.

"She just looks tired," Clark defended staunchly, picking up the conversation immediately as he slipped reliably into his protective best friend mode.

"You don't have to sugar coat it Clark," Chloe threw in before the Daily Planet's dynamic duo could start arguing. "I had a long night and I'm well aware of the fact that it's showing."

Her two favourite people went suddenly mute and Chloe instantly knew that they knew.

"Been talking to Jimmy?" She asked pointlessly, the answer already obvious.

"If by talking, you mean threatening to kick his ass, then yes, we talked," Lois snapped, her urge to maim surfacing even though it wasn't needed.

"What did you say to him?" Chloe asked wearily.

"It shouldn't be repeated," Clark interrupted, cutting Lois off before she could give her play by play account. "Having to hear it once was enough. Plus, there are kids in here."

"Lois!" Chloe moaned, rolling to her side and laying her head on the arm of the overstuffed chair she had claimed as her own.

"I'm not apologizing," Lois stated firmly. "I meant every freakin' word."

"I'm sure you did," Chloe said with a weak smile.

Her cousin's expression softened then and the older woman leaned forward to smooth Chloe's bangs out of her eyes.

"So?" She asked simply.

Pushing out a breath, Chloe sat up in her chair and met the two steady gazes that were focused on her.

"I am officially divorced," she told them quietly.

"He really sent the papers?" Clark gaped, his honest face filled with genuine surprise.

"And I really signed them," Chloe confirmed. "Mailed them first thing this morning."

"Jackass!" Lois cursed, her anger amped right back up.

Though it was tempting, Chloe clamped down on the little, eager part of her that wanted to join in on the bashing.

"He just… has his reasons," she defended lamely.

"Jackass," Lois repeated, but this time with a little less venom.

"I don't know what went wrong," Chloe lamented, her eyes moving between her two companions. "I mean, I know what was wrong, but at the same time I don't. Does that make any sense?"

"No hon, it doesn't," Lois offered honestly, her tone sympathetic, "but I get that it makes sense to you, if that helps."

"Have you been up all night?" Clark asked worriedly.

"Yeah, most of it," Chloe answered easily. It wasn't like it was a lie.

Having nothing more to tell them and both Lois and Clark battling internally over what they could possibly say to her, the three ended up lapsing into a wholly unprecedented silence, complete with pitying glances that made Chloe feel all kinds of squirmy.

"Okay," she announced uncomfortably, her hands smacking together to really get their attention. "I don't think I have to tell either of you that this really sucks and I feel like a complete and total loser, but can we please move on? If only for my sanity."

"You are not a loser," Clark decreed, ready to defend her to herself if he had to.

Lois shook her head unhappily. "I am really gonna kick that motherf –"

"Lois!" Clark and Chloe shouted in unison, derailing the approaching tirade.

"Just let it be, okay?" Chloe suggested hopefully. "You can't go assaulting your co-worker and getting yourself fired."

"I wouldn't get fired," Lois sniffed confidently, apparently willing to stand down for the time being.

A chirping noise suddenly sounded to Chloe's right and recognizing the ring as her cell, she crawled over her chair's arm to fish the device out of the deep recesses of her oversized bag. Flopping back into her seat, she flipped the phone open and scanned the short text message.

_Research? Penthouse? One hour? O._

Such a conversationalist, she thought with a smile. Hitting reply, she typed out her own, equally succinct, message and sent it along.

_Yes X 3_

Snapping the phone closed, she looked back to find Lois and Clark watching her with two very different kinds of interest.

"Who's was that?" Lois demanded immediately, never one to waste time as she leaned forward in her chair curiously.

"I gotta get to work," Chloe answered instead. Again, not a lie.

"You always smile like that when work calls you?" Lois prodded then paused as something occurred to her. "Wait, who would call you from work? You're the only one who's ever there."

"My clients call me directly Lois," Chloe supplied automatically. Still not a lie. Clearly, she was gearing up for some sort of record.

"Oh," Lois accepted then abandoned the topic all together, taking off on a different track. "Is this client cute?"

That was a tricky one… Oliver wasn't a client of hers so how to word this exactly?

"Lois, I haven't been, and am not currently, in a real dating frame of mind," she explained, mentally patting herself on the back for keeping her newly formed, lie-free record untarnished.

"Yeah, of course," Lois agreed. "Sorry, force of habit."

"You've been working a lot lately," Clark remarked casually, his tone masking his underlying meaning.

Though she hadn't told him immediately, she had – at Oliver's insistence – eventually informed Clark that she had assumed her Watchtower role on a full-time basis. Knowing her best friend the way she did, she'd initially been opposed to letting him in on the news because she'd been certain he would kick up a stink. It wasn't that Clark didn't support the League, Chloe just knew he wouldn't warm to the idea of her being an official part of it. She and Oliver had debated the matter at length, refuting each others' arguments until she finally had to admit that her hedging was only delaying the inevitable. He was Clark. There was no question that he would find out, it was only a matter of when.

Her hand forced, Chloe had grudgingly explained her 'promotion' to Clark and, as expected, he hadn't liked it one bit. For the guys of the league – who had insisted on witnessing her confession for fun – the confrontation had been a pretty big let down, what with Clark's anger never really advancing past pacing and drawn out silences. The boys had called it a wash, but she had known better. Just because Clark didn't meltdown, didn't mean his concerns weren't very real and even now, a few months after the fact, Chloe knew he was still harbouring some serious reservations.

"Well," she told her best friend, her eyes narrowing at him accusingly for bringing this up in front of Lois, "I've had a lot of free time on my hands lately. Gotta throw myself into something."

Sensing her displeasure, Clark backed off.

"Just watch where you throw yourself, okay?" He requested gently.

Chloe nodded and smiled at him reassuringly, satisfied that things were settled enough for the time being.

"Okay, I gotta get going," she declared, quickly packing up her laptop and slinging her bag onto her shoulder before chugging the remainder of her neglected coffee in a truly impressive demonstration.

Moving behind her friends, she reached an arm around each of them and gave them both a hug that was one part head lock.

"Try to behave!" She instructed the two sternly before taking off through the scattered tables and out the jingling front door.

Clark and Lois watched her leave in silence before they turned and looked at each other.

"_Watch where you throw yourself_?" Lois mimicked, her perfect brows arched incredulously. "That doesn't even make sense Smallville! I swear, I don't even know what you're talking about half the time."


	4. The Exception to the Rules Part 4

**Part 4: ****Cat Suits for Catwalks**

**

* * *

**

Seated on one end of the sofa in Oliver's penthouse, Chloe sifted through the papers in her hands as her eyes darted back and forth between the various documents, assessing them carefully. Dropping the stack in her left hand to the floor, she leaned towards her laptop and began evaluating the information displayed on the screen, comparing it to the data on the top page of the pile of papers in her right hand.

It was well past midnight and far, far later than she had intended to stay when she had first arrived that afternoon. Though she had made some breakthroughs during her hours of researching, every insight she had unearthed had been followed by a brand new batch of perplexing questions and despite her determination to crack the nut that was the mysterious Wynlie Group, the fact that she was fading fast had officially become unavoidable. Her eyes were starting to cross, her injured ribs hadn't stopped throbbing all day and everything else about her was practically _begging _for some sleep.

"I'm really starting to see why this place pisses you off," she shouted suddenly, giving up as she threw the remaining papers in her hand at her computer and sunk irritably into the ridiculously inviting couch.

"I know, right!" Oliver exclaimed from the other end of the sofa; surrounded by his own piles of invoices, spreadsheets and files and his frustration just as palpable as hers. "I mean, what do they even do? They bring in mismatched inventory, send random orders out and as far as I can see, none of the supplies have anything to do with each other!"

He began yanking on the green silk tie around his neck, roughly pulling apart the once perfect knot at his throat and giving Chloe reason to worry that he was going to end up strangling himself if he didn't ease up a bit.

"I even considered the possibility that they're fencing stolen goods," he continued once he was free of the offending tie, "but all of the records keep coming up legit. What the hell are they doing out there?"

"Who knows?" Chloe grumbled as her head lolled back despondently. "I can't figure out who's running the place, let alone what they do. I'm _nauseous _from going around and around and around with all these stupid parent companies."

The two descended into a sullen silence, each seething over the fact that this simple, run-down, out of the way warehouse was stonewalling them at every turn.

"When's Victor gonna get here?" Chloe asked in a small, exhausted voice, her head rolling along her cushion to face Oliver.

"Hopefully, in a couple of days," he replied tiredly. "He and the guys have to finish up in South America then they'll come straight to Metropolis."

"Good," she sighed. "Maybe this stuff will make more sense after a little robo-voodoo."

"Somehow I doubt it," Oliver grumbled, earning a curious look from Chloe. "I'm not saying Vic's not good," he amended, "but you and I are far from idiots and if we can't make it add up, then there has to be more going on."

"Hmm, maybe," she considered, unconvinced. In all honesty, she was feeling pretty idiotic at the moment, but had decided a few hours ago to blame her sleep depravation for that.

"We could take another trip out to the warehouse," he proposed, his eyes slanting in her direction. "See if we can find the missing piece."

"Oh, please no," Chloe whimpered. "My ribs don't want to go, not tonight."

"Are they still bothering you?" Oliver enquired as he lowered his head against his own cushion and unconsciously mimicked her posture.

"Little," she shrugged, trying to backtrack over the whiny complaint she'd let slip. "I'm fine, really, just not accustomed to getting beat up like you are."

"Hey!" Oliver objected, "I don't get beat up!"

"You do so!" Chloe countered, a list of some of his particularly spectacular scraps springing easily to mind.

"Well, yeah, but not often!" He defended pathetically.

"Oh, calm down," she chastised. "I didn't mean it in a bad way, just that you're a guy and you're all tough and man-ish and stuff."

"_Man-ish_?" Oliver questioned haughtily. "Your vocabulary could use a little work."

"I'll send it to the gym with the rest of me," she answered glibly, easily garnering a chuckle out of him.

"So, have you been to a see a Doctor about these tender ribs of yours?" he pressed, reverting to his original line of questioning.

"I'm fine," Chloe droned.

Oliver's brow rose with unconcealed doubt and she sighed in the face of his disbelief.

"I thought I'd managed to steer you off this topic with the _getting beat up_ banter," she muttered.

"I'm not Bart," he joked. "I don't see something sparkly and lose my train of thought."

"You're mean," she criticized.

"You're just sticking up for him cause he's all kinds of ga-ga over you."

"He's a flirt, that's all."

"You love it," he grinned teasingly. "No wonder he's got it so bad, you encourage it."

Eyes rolling, Chloe grabbed the nearest throw pillow and lobbed it in Oliver's direction.

"He tells me I'm beautiful, so I smile and say thank you. That's not encouragement. It's called good manners."

Oliver snickered.

"It's not like I'm inviting him over to my place for drinks!" She argued. "He's a nice guy and I'm not going to tell him off for being nice to me!"

Oliver's grin widened.

"Oh shut up," she groused, searching for another pillow. "You're baiting me."

She laughed out loud when he picked up the pillow she'd already thrown at him and handed it to her. "Thanks," she grinned, accepting his offering and tossing it right back, watching delightedly as it bounced off his face.

"So," Oliver began mildly, "back to your ribs."

Making some sort of inelegant growling snort, Chloe let her body drop theatrically to the couch and hid her face away in the cushions.

"Now you're just being a brat," he mused as he grabbed the pillow she'd beaned him with and popped her softly on the head.

Emerging from the cushions she'd burrowed into, she glared at him reproachfully. "If you'd quit nagging me, I wouldn't have to be bratty."

Unaffected by her irritation, he raised his arms and clasped his fingers behind his head, settling even further into the couch. "Well," he began languidly, "if you took proper care of yourself after a mission, I wouldn't have to keep you on the sidelines so much."

Intrigued, Chloe tucked an arm under her head to get a better view of him and narrowed her eyes inquisitively. "I thought last night was the exception to the anti-field work clause you imposed on me."

"I guess it was," Oliver replied casually, as if that was the end of the conversation.

"You'd let me go on missions?" She asked wide-eyed, rising now to rest her weight on her elbows and watching him closely for any signs of a bluff.

"Is that something you'd want?" He volleyed back.

Drawing her bottom lip between her teeth, Chloe mulled it over. She had never considered taking her membership with the league to that level, but she had to admit, the notion wasn't without a certain thrill.

"I don't know," she hedged. "I mean, I get that I'd be of better use to the team if I were more asset, less liability, but still…"

Lowering his hands from behind his head, Oliver looked at her seriously. "Chloe, you're good at what you do and the team's better for having you."

"Thanks," she murmured, hoping her blushing cheeks weren't too red.

"Going out on missions," he continued, "isn't something you need to do to prove your worth. I'm asking you if it's something you want to do."

Her teeth went right back to chewing her bottom lip.

"You're going to bite that off if you keep it up," he opined dryly.

She released her lip with a soft smack and mirrored his serious expression. "I'd have to think about it a bit," she declared, the words tinged with an apology.

Oliver gave her a reassuring smile. "The offer doesn't have an expiration date Sidekick. Feel free to overanalyse to your heart's content."

Chloe's eyes rolled comically and she knew full-well she would do just that.

"It does need to be said though," Oliver pointed out, shifting to sit up straighter on the sofa. "If you decide to go for this, there will be no traipsing in right off the bench."

"I don't traipse," Chloe scowled.

"There'd be training," he elaborated, glossing over her objection. "Lots of it."

She nodded impatiently, making it blatantly clear that she considered his _rules_ ridiculously obvious.

"And a uniform would be a must," he went on. "That's non-negotiable."

Her nose scrunched distastefully and he shook his head in annoyance. "We're not going to have a particularly covert operation if that blonde head of yours ends up on security feeds across the globe!"

"Fine," she conceded as she mentally flipped through all the various female disguises she'd come across over the years and deemed each one wholly unacceptable. "What kind of uniform are we talking about here?"

"I don't know," Oliver retorted. "I'm not a designer."

Chloe thought about possible options for a moment before announcing her choice.

"Ski mask," she proclaimed.

"Wow, that's glamorous," Oliver chortled.

"What?" She demanded. "It's practical, it's cost-efficient and I'd get to wear my own clothes."

Laughing plainly now, he fixed her with a smirk. "You want to go around dressed like a mugger?"

"People wouldn't recognize me," she noted pointedly.

"Sure," he agreed, "but wouldn't you want something a little less… generic?"

"I thought this was about anonymity," she snarked. "I didn't realize I was expected to take this uniform down the catwalk at Fashion Week."

"A cat suit!" Oliver exclaimed, snapping his fingers. "That could work."

"Ah, no," Chloe quickly dismissed. "Perhaps for the Lois's of this world, but me, I'm not a cat suit kinda girl."

"It's a disguise Sidekick," Oliver noted, "it's supposed to keep people from knowing what kind of girl you are."

"I can tell you right now," Chloe promised, her index finger raised to help drive her point home. "Me in a cat suit would make me seriously ineffectual on missions. I'd be too busy worrying about the size of my ass."

"Your ass would be fine!" Oliver laughed.

"See!" Chloe complained, pointing at him accusingly. "_Fine_ doesn't wear skin tight leather. _Fine_ wears comfy jeans."

She pouted when he simply continued snickering. "Can't I just wear a trench coat, fedora and dark glasses?"

"You know what?" Oliver proclaimed, rising stiffly from the couch and stretching out his long limbs. "We can argue about this more once you've made your decision."

She pondered his words quietly while watching him roll his head around to work out the kinks in his neck. "You say that like you already know my answer," she observed.

Opening his eyes, he looked at her and shrugged vaguely.

Part of her was itching to press him further, but a curious glance at her watch alerted her to the fact that this enlightening topic would have to be saved for another day.

"Time flies," she mused as she stood up slowly and shook her muscles back to life.

Looking to his own watch, Oliver let out a low whistle. "Damn! No kidding."

Reaching down to begin collecting her belongings, Chloe grimaced at the thought of the drive ahead of her. The commute from Metropolis to Smallville wasn't that big of a deal – she did it often enough – but it did put her bed that much further away.

"Why don't you stay here?" Oliver suggested, apparently reading her mind as he stooped down and began assembling some of the random sheets of paper that were scattered across his living room floor.

"No, no," Chloe declined, her head shaking back and forth. "I'm good."

"The guest room's all stocked up," he promised, depositing the papers in his hands on the coffee table and straightening up to face her. "Brand new, never used, toothbrushes. Pyjamas. Fresh sheets. I keep it ready for when the guys crash here."

Glancing down the hallway that lead to the guest bedroom, Chloe weighed the tempting offer. Ten little steps to one bed or a forty-five minute drive to another…

"Look," Oliver said, interrupting her internal tug-of-war. "If you want to head home, be my guest, or…" Pausing, he gestured towards the second room. "Be my guest. It's your choice."

Another beat passed and then, all at once, Chloe made up her mind.

"These toothbrushes you speak of," she began playfully, "they've really never been used?"

"Still sealed in their packages," he confirmed with a grin.

"There you have it," she announced, turning towards the room and tossing a look at Oliver over her shoulder. "Sleep tight, Mr Queen. Don't let the beg bugs bite."

"Chloe," he called out, halting her exit.

"Yeah?"

He smirked. "Whatever plans you have for tomorrow are cancelled. You and I are going to the hospital to get a legitimate diagnosis about those ribs."

Chloe's mouth dropped open, ready to protest, but Oliver's head cocked to the side and suddenly, everything about him just dared her to put up a fight.

"Forget what I said," she snapped before marching away. "I hope the bed bugs get you."


	5. The Exception to the Rules Part 5

**Part 5: Peace Offerings, Cease Fires and Parting Shots**

**

* * *

**

Red faced, Chloe felt utterly exposed as she stood in the middle of Dr. Charles Marshall's office with her shirt pulled up to reveal her bruised abdomen.

"You know," she muttered through gritted teeth, "you _really_ could wait outside."

Lounging comfortably in one of Dr. Marshall's brown leather chairs on the opposite side of the room, Oliver smirked at her patronizingly. "If you could be trusted to relay the Doctor's opinion honestly, I'd do just that."

She shot him her dirtiest look, but the effect was spoiled when she flinched under Dr. Marshall's touch. The older man glanced up apologetically from his kneeling position before her and his investigating hands slowed to move with greater care as he continued his examination.

"So how exactly did you manage to do this Miss Sullivan?" He enquired kindly.

"A bunch of us were playing touch football," she lied smoothly. "One of the boys got a little too enthusiastic and switched over to tackle without warning me."

"Football?" Dr. Marshall repeated with a pleasantly surprised smile. "Forgive me, my dear, but I wouldn't have pegged you as a fan."

"I'm not," Chloe agreed then pointed a condemning finger in Oliver's direction. "He made me do it."

She figured the detail gave her story some real credibility seeing as if it had actually happened, that was most likely how it would have come to pass.

"Mr. Queen can be quite persuasive," Dr. Marshall noted cheerfully.

"He can, can't he?" Chloe groused, glaring at Oliver pointedly. "Like, say for example, convincing you to see me during your lunch." Pausing, she turned her attention back to the Doctor. "I'm really sorry about that, by the way."

"You've already mentioned dear," the man grinned, "several times at least."

Finishing his assessment, Dr. Marshall rose to his feet and nodded his permission when Chloe's hands flew to the sides of her shirt in an unspoken question. Grabbing his clipboard, he jotted down a few notes as he made his way over to his desk and took his seat. Immensely relieved, she tugged her clothing back into place and followed the Doctor's lead, taking a seat in the second leather chair, which she scooted away from an amused Oliver in silent protest of the embarrassment he'd just subjected her to.

"So is she going to live?" Oliver asked cheekily.

"Miss Sullivan will be fine," Dr. Marshall announced, prompting Chloe's head to snap towards Oliver, triumph written all over her features. "I believe one of the ribs has a slight fracture, but it's not terribly serious. Rest would be my recommendation."

"Told you so," Chloe mocked.

"This isn't an _I told you so_ situation," Oliver stated plainly. "I wasn't sitting over here hoping you were hurt. I brought you here to make sure you _weren't_."

"You could have been sure if you had just listened to me," Chloe snarked back.

"It is important to seek medical attention following any kind of rib injury," Dr. Marshall offered, breaking up their argument. "Any blow or fall that's hard enough to fracture a rib could cause damage to the lungs, spleen, or blood vessels, for example."

Once again, Chloe could feel her cheeks beginning to heat up uncomfortably.

"Mr. Queen was very wise to make you come and see me," the older man concluded, schooling his features to keep his burgeoning grin at bay.

"Thank you Dr. Marshall," Oliver said with a pleased smile.

Feeling wholly ganged-up on, Chloe crossed her arms obstinately over her chest. "I should make you wear a sign," she griped at Oliver. "_Please don't feed the ego_."

Both men chuckled good-naturedly and Chloe became further convinced that they were in cahoots.

"Well," Oliver proclaimed, rising out of his chair and moving to shake Dr. Marshall's hand. "I think it's time we let you get to your lunch Charles."

Dr. Marshall waved off the concern and patted Oliver soundly on the back.

"Never a problem," the older man replied as he and Oliver headed towards the door with Chloe trailing behind them. "It's what I'm here for."

"Please give my best to Adelle," Oliver offered politely.

"Of course, of course," Dr. Marshall pledged. "She's exceptionally excited about your fundraising soiree tomorrow evening. There's nothing my better half loves more than having a reason to take my credit card shopping."

"Then I'll look forward to seeing you both," Oliver enthused, the billionaire charm turned all the way on.

"Miss Sullivan," Dr. Marshall smiled, turning to face Chloe. "Will I have the pleasure of seeing you at the benefit?"

"Oh no, no, no," she replied quickly, her hands flutteringly manically in front of her as she waved the suggestion away. "I'm not big on the soiree circuit. Besides, I have resting to do."

Dr. Marshall chuckled mightily as he offered her his hand.

"It was truly delightful to make your acquaintance," he told her warmly.

"The feeling is mutual," she grinned, deciding instantly to forgive the man for taking Oliver's side in the whole rib issue. "And thank you for seeing me. I know it didn't seem like it, but I do appreciate you taking the time."

"You're very welcome," Dr. Marshall accepted as he opened the door and held it for them as they exited.

Entering the bustling hallway, Chloe and Oliver began weaving their way through the labyrinth that was Metropolis General Hospital, nimbly dodging all the rolling gurneys, rushing Doctors and overworked nurses that were hustling every which way.

"Now that wasn't so bad, was it?" Oliver teased.

"It was fine," Chloe replied tightly, her eyes staying straight ahead as she made way for a frazzled orderly. "Dr. Marshall seems like a really wonderful man."

"He is," Oliver agreed, a smirk creeping across his lips as he took in her civil hostility; noticing how her brisk march made her arms swing purposefully and how her ordinarily expressive face had become a stiff mask.

"You're mad at me," he grinned playfully, getting a kick out of her anger.

Arriving at the elevator, Chloe punched the down button none too gently and stood back with her gaze fixed on the little numbered lights that marked the conveyor's progress.

"I'm not mad," she contradicted icily. "You were right to make me get checked out, Dr. Marshall said so."

He leaned a shoulder casually into the wall next to the elevator and tilted his head, trying to catch her eyes as she continued to fume.

"You seem kinda mad," he prodded mischievously.

"Nope, not mad," she disagreed, avoiding his looks with an iron will.

The elevator dinged at that moment and the doors slid open with a gentle swoosh, inviting the pair in. Sweeping past him and stepping inside, she treated the button for the main level with the same care she had bestowed upon the one to go down and then lodged herself into one of the small space's corners.

Lifting his hand to his chin thoughtfully, Oliver decided to try a different approach.

"Is it because Dr. Marshall didn't offer you a lollipop?" He asked as he entered the elevator and resumed his casual stance in the corner opposite her.

"What?" Chloe exclaimed, turning to face him before catching herself and snapping her eyes back to the wall.

"A lollipop," he repeated. "He didn't offer you one."

"Pretty sure Dr. Marshall doesn't give his patients lollipops," she ground out, her voice staying fairly even despite the irritation Oliver could plainly see welling up in her.

"Actually, he does," Oliver corrected, "but they're only for model patients."

She stayed silent, but her eye roll could be seen from a mile away.

"I mean, your disposition improved in the end, I'll give you that," he continued conversationally, "but it was pretty touch and go for the most part. Definitely not lollipop worthy."

Reaching her breaking point, she finally faced him fully and scowled. Daggers and all.

"Hi," Oliver grinned, nonplussed by her wrath.

"You're an idiot," she bit out.

"And you're outraged because I made you go to a Doctor when you didn't want to," he fired back. "Seems a little silly to me."

Her eyes widened at his insinuation that she was _silly_, but she didn't offer up a tart retort, so he knew he'd managed to shame her just a little.

"C'mon," he coaxed indulgently, sliding closer to her. "I'll buy you a coffee. Isn't that the ultimate peace offering in the world according to Chloe Sullivan?"

The promise of caffeine had her once firm resolve faltering and he could feel his smile growing as he watched her consider his olive branch.

"I want the good stuff," she stated plainly, negotiating her terms. "No grubby hospital coffee."

"There's a place down the street that easily sells the most overpriced lattes in Metropolis," he promised. "Nothing less than $5 a cup."

Her tense posture started melting away and he knew he'd won. As if on cue, the elevator's chime sounded to announce their arrival on the main floor and the doors swooshed open once again.

"Well?" He ventured knowingly.

Her eyes narrowed at him one last time before she pushed away from the wall she was leaning against and strolled out of the elevator.

"Fine," she tossed over her shoulder, her stride never breaking.

Grinning victoriously, he took two quick steps to cut through the closing doors and broke into a light jog to catch up with her as she made her way across the hospital's buzzing foyer.

"If only all my negotiations were as fun," he mused as he fell into step with her and draped a long arm over her shoulders.

"I'm so glad my irritation amuses you," she grumbled, her elbow digging into his side as she tried to worm her way out of his half hug.

"Of course it does," Oliver smirked, enjoying her futile efforts to shake him off. "Most of my business dealings are all yelling and threats and, of course, costly. With you, I trot out a coffee cart and alls well."

He released her suddenly and chuckled when her unexpected freedom nearly caused her to struggle herself right off her own two feet.

"You're really making me regret agreeing to a truce with you," she muttered crossly as she righted herself.

He smiled charmingly. "Am I though?"

Ignoring him, she wound her way through the revolving door that was the hospital's main entrance and merged with the pedestrian traffic flowing down the sidewalk.

"So tell me about this big benefit," she offered diplomatically as they moved side by side within the throngs of people.

"Thought _soirees _weren't your thing," he chided.

"You know, I was trying to uphold the cease fire here," she sniped, turning on her heel and reversing her direction, ready to storm away from him, "but if you're not going to hold up your end, then I'll just get my own coffee."

Reaching behind him, Oliver hooked her by the elbow and spun her about face, sliding her arm into the crook of his and resting his larger hand over top of hers to keep it there.

"You're right, I'm sorry," he apologized as he pulled her with him. "It's not easy to switch off the banter around you."

She treated him to another one of her eye rolls of epic proportions.

"It's a fundraising gala for Queen Industries' charitable foundation," he explained, finally answering her question as they set off towards the aforementioned coffee shop.

"Isn't that what the last one was for?" She speculated.

"You do pay attention!" He smiled and she merely shrugged.

"The last one was held for the Star City crowd," he clarified. "We hold similar events all over the country. Can't leave a single wealthy stone unturned."

"Makes sense," she acknowledged. "So, I take it this will be a swanky affair?"

"Naturally," he deadpanned, "the fancier the party, the more the big shots want to get in. The more of them that show up, the harder they try to out-donate each other. It's really just one big, expensive pissing contest."

Chloe's nose scrunched at the crude assessment. "So nice of the rich and famous to put their hearts into their charity," she noted sarcastically.

"Well, my heart's in it," he stated seriously. "The only reason I put myself through these things is cause they mean that people who need help, get it."

She smiled at him, proud of his dedication. His philanthropic ways were hardly new to her, but it still left her pleasantly surprised each time she was reminded of the depth of his commitment. When he glanced over at her and returned her smile with one of his own, it hit her that she'd been gazing at him for a few seconds longer than needed, so she quickly picked a new topic to launch into.

"Alright, which supermodel are you going to bring as arm candy?"

Playing up on her teasing, she suddenly threw a ridiculous amount of sashay into her hips and strutted beside him like the sidewalk had been transformed into a runway she needed to slink down.

"Adriana Lima?" She guessed, unconcerned by the odd looks she was receiving from the people they passed. "Maybe Miranda Kerr? Gisele… no wait, she just married Tom Brady. That probably wouldn't go over well…"

"First of all," Oliver interrupted, "nobody walks like that, let alone anyone I would date."

With a laugh, Chloe reverted back to her own, more natural gait.

"And secondly," he continued, "I don't bring dates to these sorts of functions. Not anymore at least."

"Why's that?" She inquired curiously, ducking by a man who was waving his arms and hollering into his cell phone.

"When I'm at these events, I'm at work," Oliver stated. "I'm expected to give speeches, glad hand everybody in the room, talk shop. It's not a good setting for a date."

"Oh please!" Chloe laughed, punching the arm that held hers. "Cause so many women would complain about going to a posh party with _the _Oliver Queen. Right. And I'm in a love triangle with Princes William _and_ Harry."

"Whoa! What happened to our cease fire?" Oliver objected. "Here I am, opening up to you and you laugh at me? That's low Sidekick."

"Aww, poor little rich boy," Chloe teased. "Tell me more about how lonely it is at the top."

Oliver gaped at her drolly. "You're a bad person, you know that?"

Chloe's answering laugh was loud and heartfelt, but it was abruptly cut off when she caught sight of a familiar face moving amongst the crowd ahead of her. He didn't notice her right away, but the intensity of her stare quickly drew Jimmy's eyes and his obvious surprise caused his steps to falter. For one gut-wrenching moment, she thought he was going to turn and stomp away, but instead, he heaved an incredibly visible sigh and resumed walking towards her.

Wondering why she'd stopped so suddenly, Oliver looked down at her questioningly then glanced up to see what had captured her attention so completely.

"Shit," he muttered simply, straightening tensely to his full height as he watched Jimmy approach.

"Chloe," Jimmy greeted curtly as he came to a stop before her, turning to offer Oliver a sharp nod.

"Jimmy," Chloe responded, the word tiny, soft and sad.

"Didn't know you two were so chummy," he observed tightly, his eyes falling pointedly to their intertwined arms.

Instantly burning with embarrassment, Chloe quickly put a step between she and Oliver, trying not to notice the way her blond friend sent a warning Jimmy's way before he dropped his head to speak to her directly.

"I'll give you two some space," he told her lowly, his eyes clearly asking if that was what she wanted.

At her jerky, affirmative nod, Oliver squeezed her arm supportively then moved away.

"Jimmy," he nodded sternly as he passed the shorter man and ambled over to a news stand a few yards off. Tossing a bill on the counter, he picked out a paper and began thumbing through it distractedly, his eyes darting up every few seconds to check on them.

As alone as they could be on a crowded sidewalk and trapped in a painfully tense silence, Chloe became acutely aware of the fact that she wasn't even a little prepared for this encounter.

"So, Oliver Queen, huh?" Jimmy mused caustically, the unfamiliar edge in his voice cutting into her bones. "You'd think after everything I wouldn't be so surprised, but this… I did not see this coming."

"It's not like that," she stammered. "We were just going for coffee and…"

"C'mon Chloe," he chided scathingly.

"We're just friends!" She defended, trying to keep her voice even, mindful of all the strangers that surrounded them.

Jimmy let out a harsh, biting laugh. "This is like freakin' déjà vu. Different guy maybe, but the same bullshit story."

Biting her lip hard, Chloe struggled to maintain a semblance of composure as she felt hysteria swelling in her chest.

"I don't want to fight like this," she whispered, unshed tears stinging her eyes.

His face twisted with anger and she braced herself, expecting a litany of hate and allegations to come storming at her, but nothing happened. Instead, his expression fell sadly and the bitterness that was on the tip of his tongue got reigned in, leaving him perfectly still as he openly studied the woman he had taken as his wife five months prior.

Returning his stare, it struck her that, in this moment, she was seeing Jimmy clearly for the first time. He was still the kind and sweet and caring guy she'd always known, but the way he looked at her now was so completely different from what she remembered. Gone was the hope that used to fill his eyes and the easy smile he always wore, just for her. There was a time when every one of his looks was filled with love, but that was gone. _They_ were gone because it had always been Jimmy that had kept them alive and that just wasn't the case anymore.

Seeming to remember himself, Jimmy forced his gaze away from her and raked a hand through his hair in frustration, their quiet interlude breaking apart as quickly as it had arrived.

"You're right," he mumbled finally, his voice calm and filled with resignation. "I shouldn't be yelling at you. I just…"

He paused, moving forward tentatively to close some of the space between them.

"Listen," he continued softly, "I don't want to hurt you, but I need you to hear this… You were never in love with me like I was with you."

"Jimmy…" Chloe murmured brokenly, but he put up a hand to stop her.

"I have _always_ known how much you care about me," he pressed on, "and I really thought that was gonna be enough, but it's not. I want more and you're only willing to give so much of yourself. Neither one of us can change that."

"I do love you," she professed, but the words felt pathetically hollow.

Jimmy drew in a shaky breath.

"And I loved you," he replied, his voice firm with finality.

Nodding dumbly, she found she couldn't breathe at all.

"I signed the papers," she blurted out miserably. "I put them in yesterday's mail. They should arrive at your lawyer's soon."

His eyes welled with tears, but his composure remained solidly intact.

"Thank you," he offered, jamming his hands in his pockets as he took the last few steps towards her and she found herself just inches away from him.

"Be happy," he requested sincerely, pressing a kiss to her temple.

Her eyes squeezed shut to stop her own tears and she choked back the sob that was trying to claw its way out of her. She had to fight tooth and nail for the smallest bit of self-control and when she was finally able to grab hold of it, she pried her blurry eyes open to discover that Jimmy was gone.

Her body numb, she turned and caught sight of him as he quickly moved away through the crowd, her forlorn gaze continuing to seek him out even after he had long disappeared.

"Chloe?" A voice called to her and she turned dazedly to find Oliver at her side, his face etched with pity.

The sight of his stricken expression brought her crashing back to reality and right into a humiliated panic. Realizing she was headed straight towards a very public meltdown, she started backing away from him clumsily, her eyes darting at everything as she tried to figure out what to do, where to go.

"I… I gotta…" she stuttered quickly, her throat tight around the rambling words.

"Chloe," Oliver tried again, his hands going to her shoulders.

"Please don't," she implored hoarsely. "I can't handle pity right now."

Suddenly, she was engulfed in his arms.

"It's not pity," he promised her quietly, his breath ruffling her hair as he spoke close to her ear.

"Let go," she argued, pressing her hands into his chest in a feeble attempt to push him away.

Instead of complying, he tightened his arms and held her firmly to him, her feet barely touching the ground as he side-stepped them away from all the passing onlookers.

"Stop," he soothed, "it's going to be okay."

Accepting that escape was impossible, she let her forehead fall to his chest with a weak thud and forced her eyes to slide closed.

"It's not okay," she protested wretchedly. "It's not."

"It will be," he told her knowingly, one of his hands moving to cradle the back of her head while the other stayed securely wound around her waist.

She couldn't summon up the strength to offer anymore resistance, so she gave in and lapsed into a thick silence, hiding herself away in the refuge he was providing. With his arms and body protecting her from all the noise and people that made her head spin, she listened to her own laboured breathing and succumbed to the mortification that she'd been working so hard to shove aside these past few days. She now knew, without a doubt, that she'd reached the end of this failed chapter in her life; it was time to say good bye to Jimmy Olsen and all the things that they were supposed to be.

Lost in her desolation, she had no way of telling how long she stayed sheltered in Oliver's embrace, but as soon as she could, she crawled back to herself and with great effort, locked away the ebbing pain so she could slowly lift her head to meet his eyes.

"Thanks," she whispered, her voice worn, but steady.

Pushing her bangs out of her eyes, Oliver smoothed a hand over her head and let his palm come to rest at the side of her jaw, his thumb sweeping over her cheek to erase a tear she hadn't realized she'd cried.

"You're welcome," he accepted simply, watching her closely.

"I'm such a basket case," she complained uncomfortably, her eyes wavering against his gaze then lowering to stare at the knot in his tie.

"You're not," he reassured her, but then paused. "Well, you can be, but this doesn't fall into that category."

"Gee, thanks," she said with a half-hearted, little smile.

"Want me to take you home?" he asked, his index finger hooking under her chin to tilt her eyes back to his.

"No, no," she answered, chuckling mournfully. "I don't have any distractions left there. I already cleaned everything in the place."

He frowned at her slightly, worry creeping back into his expression.

"I think I'll just try to find Clark or Lois," she considered uncertainly. "See if they can skip outta work or something."

"Well, I still owe you a coffee, if you want it," Oliver pointed out.

She smiled up at him gratefully, feeling for all the world like he'd just thrown her a life preserver.

"Yeah?" She checked.

Returning her smile, he released his hold around her waist and let his other arm slide across her shoulders to hug her to his side before moving them back onto the sidewalk, wordlessly resuming their trek to the coffee shop.

"Can't get enough of me, huh?" She mused glumly. "Who can blame you really? I mean, irritable trips to the Doctor, fights in elevators, run-ins with the ex… I'm a regular good time."

"You do have your moments," Oliver agreed as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.


	6. The Exception to the Rules Part 6

**Part 6: Blonde Banging Billionaire**

**

* * *

**

A mere three hours after he had collapsed tiredly into his bed, Oliver was jarred awake by the faint buzz of an alarm sounding. Rolling over wearily, he peeled his eyes open and stared at the silent clock on his bedside table that read 5:19 am. Frowning at the quiet device, his eyes swept over his room and landed on the true culprit.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he dragged himself up and padded over to the beeping laptop he'd left on his dresser. Pushing the display screen back, he blinked curiously at the flashing notice that claimed he had visitors waiting in his elevator. Clicking the appropriate keys, he opened the surveillance feed to find Arthur Curry and Victor Stone staring back at him.

"Up and at 'em, Sunshine!" AC sang mockingly to the camera.

Suppressing a groan, Oliver spoke to the machine, his voice gravelly with sleep. "You do know what time it is, right?"

"You're the one who said to get here as soon as possible," AC pointed out, unabashedly delighted that they had disturbed their leader's rest.

"Just open the doors," Victor grouched, butting in. "It's five in the morning for us too."

Punching the necessary button, Oliver pulled open the top drawer of his dresser and fished out a pair of sweat pants, putting them on over his boxers. Grabbing a t-shirt as well, he slowly made his way out of his bedroom to find Victor and AC waiting for him in the living room.

"We interrupt your beauty sleep, princess?" AC joked as he took note of Oliver's dishevelled appearance.

"Something like that," he muttered, tugging the shirt on as he shuffled past them, intent on firing up the coffee maker.

"So, I love what you've done with the place," Victor called after him sarcastically, prompting Oliver to lean back and offer an inquisitive look from the kitchen.

Victor gestured to the stacks of papers and documents littering the living room floor.

"Research," Oliver supplied simply as he began shovelling heaping spoonfuls of coffee into the machine. "Chloe's organizational system leaves something to be desired."

"I'll say," Victor agreed, carefully stepping around the papers as he plotted a course towards the couch and took a seat.

"You two have any luck with that warehouse you were telling us about?" AC asked as he toed his way along the route Victor had helpfully mapped out and settled heavily into one of the room's large arm chairs.

"No," Oliver grumbled as he left the percolating coffee maker to do its thing and wandered back to the living room. "Not even a bit."

"Wow," AC mused. "You must be slipping."

Coming to a stop behind the sofa, Oliver leaned forward and braced his arms against furnishing, shooting AC a bleary scowl.

"Would you like to take a crack at it?" He asked the other man pointedly.

"Little grumpy before that first cup, huh Ollie?" AC grinned back.

By way of reply, Oliver flipped him the finger and AC chuckled whole-heartedly.

"You say you and Chloe have been going through this stuff?" Victor asked as he scooped up the nearest pile of papers and dexterously flipped through the entire stack; absorbing the material in a few mere seconds.

"Yeah," Oliver confirmed, envious of the speed with which Victor could process information and wishing – not for the first time – that he had one or two of those practical powers the other guys enjoyed.

"And you guys couldn't find anything relevant?" Victor questioned, reaching for another pile of documents.

"Did I not say that?" Oliver sniped irritably, causing AC to start snickering all over again.

"Chill," Victor chastised. "I'm just surprised, that's all. Chloe's usually pretty sharp with this stuff."

Oliver paused to consider his friend's comment, wondering if the events of the past few days had left the little blonde more out of sorts than she was willing to admit. She'd made it clear that she wanted the distractions work and research offered – welcomed them, in fact – but maybe he had accepted her claim too readily and instead, should have insisted she take more time for herself.

"Well, that's why you're here," Oliver stated as he clapped Victor's shoulder, setting aside his worries about Chloe's emotional well-being for the moment. "Make sure we've crossed all our t's and dotted all our i's."

"I flew all night cause you need your work proof-read?" Victor asked disdainfully. "You could have just sent me the files."

"What?" Oliver gasped sarcastically, "and deprive myself the pleasure of your company?"

"Touché," Victor smirked.

"Plus," Oliver continued as he pushed away from the couch to go check on his brewing coffee, "I want Bart and AC to stop in at some of the Wynlie Groups' other holdings while you're sorting out the paper work. Hopefully they can find something that'll shed a little more light on this."

Something occurred to Oliver just then and he paused, mid-stride, to turn back and face the two men.

"Where's Bart?" He asked, finally noticing the young man's absence.

"Was wondering when you were gonna pick up on that," AC smiled. "You really aren't a morning person are you?"

Waving away the question, Oliver looked to Victor for an answer.

"Breakfast," Victor stated plainly, pointing out the obvious. "His _second_ despite the fact that he had four suppers on the plane… which reminds me, you're jet's gonna need some re-stocking."

"That kid's lucky my pockets are deep enough to keep him fed," Oliver remarked irritably as he resumed his saunter to the kitchen. "He gonna be long?"

As if on cue, the buzzing sound from earlier started once again, heralding another arrival in the elevator. Staring forlornly towards the kitchen and thinking of the coffee waiting for him there, Oliver grudgingly changed course and headed over to the computer at his desk. Displayed on the monitor was the young man in question, bouncing restlessly on the balls of his feet as he waited impatiently to be admitted into the apartment.

The moment Oliver hit the key to release the doors, Bart flew into the penthouse at full speed, sending the haphazardly arranged piles of papers that carpeted the floor flying in his wake.

"Douche bag!" Bart hollered as he seemingly appeared out of thin air to stand toe-to-toe with Oliver, his finger pointing accusingly in the taller man's face.

Blinking in confusion, Oliver stared oddly at his disgruntled teammate.

"Are you kidding me right now?" He asked blankly.

"Douche… bag," Bart repeated sourly.

Keeping his wide eyes on the strange and unexpected scene that had suddenly developed, AC leaned in Victor's general direction and spoke up. "Twenty on Ollie."

"Please," Victor disagreed as he settled eagerly against the arm of the couch, his attention just as riveted. "He'll have to catch him first. You're on."

"Bart," Oliver began patiently, fighting the urge to grab and break the finger the shorter man still had pointed in his face, "it's too early for this shit, whatever it is."

"You're so full of it!" Bart shouted angrily. "All those times you told me to stop hitting on her cause she was married! At least I was just playing around!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Oliver demanded lowly, closing the small space between him and Bart to tower imposingly over the other man.

"Like you don't know," Bart shot back, standing his ground.

"Uh, we don't know," AC cut in conversationally, gesturing back and forth between himself and Victor. "Can you tell us?"

"I'll do you one better," Bart stated, glowering at Oliver as he marched over to the desk and bent down to the computer. "I'll show you."

AC and Victor were out of their seats in a heartbeat and no longer concerned about disturbing the papers, which they stomped right over as they crossed the room to join Bart. Decidedly suspicious, Oliver moved to look at the computer as well and watched as Bart went onto the internet and quickly typed an address into the bar at the top of the screen.

"A gossip site?" Oliver questioned acidly, ready to snap the kid in half if this turned out to be his idea of a joke.

Instead of answering, Bart struck the enter key forcefully and straightened, levelling Oliver with a damning glare.

The page loaded and Oliver did a wide-eyed double take when four photographs of he and Chloe suddenly appeared on the screen.

"Douche Bag!" Bart repeated condemningly as he waved wildly at his evidence, the case open and closed in his mind.

"Move," Oliver ordered, ignoring the shocked obscenities coming from AC and Victor and elbowing an impudent Bart out of his way so he could lean towards the monitor.

They had been taken the previous day and they captured the moment he and Chloe had shared following her tense encounter with Jimmy Olsen. One shot showed him hugging her tightly, while another framed the few seconds when his hand had cradled her cheek as they spoke closely. In the third, they were smiling together as they walked away with their arms wound about one another, and the final image was, of course, the kiss he had placed upon her blonde hair. Below the images was a short, hastily written article, which adamantly declared that they were _the _new couple to watch.

"Fuck off," he cursed slowly.

"Dude," AC admonished, "I know her and her hubby are having problems, but c'mon! She's married!"

His head snapping fast enough to warrant whip lash, Oliver fixed AC with a dangerous look.

"It's not true," he explained tersely.

"They sure look like you," Victor observed, leaning over Oliver's shoulder to get a better view. "They're actually nice shots."

Growling in frustration, Oliver paced away from the desk, dragging his hand raggedly over his face before he swung back around to face his team.

"We're not a couple," he clarified brusquely.

"Oh really?" Bart jeered, strutting away from the desk to once again stand in front of Oliver. "So what is it then? One night stand? A fling? Booty Call?"

"It's morning and there's yelling," a small, tired voice suddenly proclaimed, startling the four men. "Why is there yelling in the morning?"

Bart, AC and Victor went slack jawed and Oliver could only sigh heavily as Chloe appeared before them, rubbing her eyes sleepily and absolutely swimming in the pair of men's pyjamas she was wearing.

"This is best League meeting _ever_," AC observed out loud, blatantly astonished.

"When were you gonna tell us she was here?" Victor questioned, spinning around to face Oliver as his usual calm evaporated into shrill surprise.

"I told you she was here when you asked about the papers," Oliver fired back.

"No you did not!" Victor protested. "You led me to believe that she _had been _here, not that she was _sleeping _here!"

"What's going on?" Chloe asked confusedly, still disoriented.

"_Huge_ douche bag!" Bart swore loudly at Oliver, his voice sputtering back to life after Chloe's surprising entrance had sent him into a silent fit of shock.

"She just came from the guest room, idiot," Oliver pointed out plainly. "What is that you think I do exactly? Sleep with her then send her to another room?"

"Whoa! What?" Chloe yelled, finally waking up completely as her eyes searched each one of them for an explanation. "Someone start making sense. Now!"

Sighing again, Oliver crooked a finger at her, motioning for her to follow him to the computer. Her eyes narrowed apprehensively, but she did as she was instructed and made her way over to him without protest, looking down when he pointed at the screen.

"Fuck off," she muttered in horror.

"My thoughts precisely," Oliver noted dryly.

"_Blonde Banging Billionaire_?" She read aloud, pulling the quote directly from accompanying article's title. "This is _not _happening. I'm still asleep, right?"

"Oh no," Oliver corrected matter-of-factly. "This is real."

"Omigod, Lois is gonna go ape shit!" Chloe whined.

"Um, I don't mean to tell you your priorities," AC mentioned casually, "but I think you might want to worry about what your husband's gonna do before you start obsessing about Lois' reaction."

"Jimmy divorced me," Chloe stated bluntly, shocking most of the people in the room into another silence.

"I ran into him yesterday," she continued as she shook her head disbelievingly at the splashy web page. "That's when these pictures were taken. That's why Oliver was hugging me."

"Oh," AC said simply. "Well, that sucks."

"It does," Chloe assured him, "and _this _isn't helping."

"So, you're not married?" Bart asked stupidly, trying to wrap his brain around the situation.

"Not anymore," Chloe bit out.

"And this is…?" He trailed off, his hands motioning vaguely at the oversized sleepwear she was sporting.

"Me crashing here after spending yet another night trying to decipher these files we found at the warehouse," she explained exasperatedly, gesturing to the papers that were absolutely everywhere. "As for these," she continued, plucking at the collar of her top, "I just borrowed the smallest pair I could find in the guest room, which means they're most likely yours."

"Those are mine?" Bart asked, his tone completely changing he looked her over appreciatively.

"Bart!" She shouted.

"Sorry," he offered, hands held up innocently. "It's just kinda hot, that's all."

Hardly in the mood, she pushed the palms of her hands into her eyes and reminded herself that this was no time to get a massive migraine.

"Okay," she said as she turned to face Oliver. "Is it too early to call up your little press monkeys and have them issue a release that categorically denies, denies, denies?"

Having taken the seat at the computer, Oliver looked up at her question, his eyes breaking away from the screen he had begun studying intently.

"I can have them do it," he answered evenly, "but I don't know if that'll do us much good."

"He's got a point," Bart agreed readily, his righteous anger from moments before nowhere in sight. "If you guys claim you're not together, it'll just up the ante for the paps."

"_The paps_?" Victor questioned, shooting Bart a funny look.

"What?" The young man shrugged. "I'm big into celebrity gossip. I get my daily dose emailed to me. That's how I found out about this."

"So we do nothing?" Chloe gasped incredulously. "We can't do _nothing_! I just got divorced! This makes me look like some sort of adulteress!"

"That's hardly our biggest problem here," Oliver criticized.

"Easy for you to say," Chloe snapped. "They call you…" She moved back to the computer and scanned quickly through the article, finding the part she was looking for and reading it out, "_Oliver Queen, the dashing, billionaire playboy_. Yeah, _tramp_ doesn't have quite the same ring to it."

"Okay," Oliver began, raising a hand to halt her diatribe. "Stop sewing on your scarlet letter and look at this."

Following his gaze, she looked at the images of them once again.

"Look at the angle of the shots," he hinted.

"They're taken from above," Chloe noted. "So?"

"You and I walking down the street wasn't some planned, announced, public appearance," Oliver clarified. "What kind of photographer camps out and surveys the street on the off chance something might happen?"

"Lots of them do that," Bart contradicted. "They drive around for hours, hide in trees, pay people to tip them off… it's their job to catch these kinda things as they happen."

"Fine," Oliver accepted far too easily. "If these were taken by professional paparazzi, why don't the pictures have any photo credits?"

Chloe leaned over him to examine the screen herself and found that he was right.

"What do you mean?" Bart inquired curiously.

"Photographers sell their pictures," Chloe explained, catching Oliver's train of thought immediately. "If there's no credit – either their name or their company's name– then people can just take the images. They don't make any money."

"That's true," Victor allowed, leaning into the desk with his arms crossed thoughtfully over his chest, "but a little credit doesn't stop it from happening. The internet's a big place and people steal stuff all the time. They probably just ripped these pictures off another site."

"The article says that thissite received the tip exclusively," Chloe pointed out.

"I'm gonna call and see if I can't squeeze a source out of them," Oliver indicated, grabbing the computer's mouse and scrolling through the contacts listed on the site.

"I'll see if I can't get into their emails," Chloe told him, looking down at Oliver from her perch at his side. "That's most likely how their _tip _arrived."

"Good," Oliver nodded, turning to face her. "While you're at it, can you pull up maps and building plans for the street? I wanna…"

"Try and figure out what building the photographer was in or on," Chloe surmised exactly, finishing Oliver's thought. "But won't that be tricky without…"

"We can just base the calculations on standard lens sizes," Oliver explained, answering her question before she even asked it. "It won't be exact, but it should help narrow the field."

"Whoa!" AC called out, interrupting their planning. "Slow down for a second. What exactly have you two decided is going on here?"

"Someone's following him," Chloe stated simply, hooking a thumb at Oliver.

"Or they're following you," he pointed out, his mouth set in a hard line as he stared up at her.

"I vote that you're the one being tailed," she bet, sending Oliver a knowing look. "My lack of billions makes my list of enemies only _half _as long as yours."

Oliver smirked at her archly. "Ever think that maybe your security guard is checking up on you?"

Chloe's mouth fell into a perfect 'o' at his suggestion. "Do you think he got that good a look at me?" She wondered.

"Can't say," Oliver shrugged. "I was preoccupied at the time, what with making sure he didn't crush you."

"Are you two sure you're not a couple?" Victor interrupted abruptly, his question causing Chloe and Oliver to send him matching set of peculiar stares. "Cause you two have your own language thing going on over there," he clarified, his hand waving at them indistinctly.

Their curious looks turned steely in sync.

"I'm not saying, I'm just saying," Victor exclaimed defensively.


	7. The Exception to the Rules Part 7

**Part 7: The Paris Hilton Effect**

**

* * *

**

"Another batch of them just showed up," AC announced, his eyes glued to the live security feed that monitored the parameter of Oliver's building.

"Seriously?" Chloe asked from her place on the couch, still swimming in Bart's too big pj's and clutching her second cup of black coffee.

"That makes eleven of them," AC noted as he watched the group of paparazzi loiter around the building's entrance, all of them armed with various photographic equipment.

"This is ridiculous," Chloe muttered, shaking her head despairingly. "You'd think _real _news wasn't happening all over the world as we speak."

"They're just giving the people what they want," AC offered mildly.

"People suck," she groused, taking a massive gulp from her mug.

"So, the website's editor swears up and down that the photos arrived anonymously late last night," Oliver proclaimed as he entered the living room, snapping his cell closed in his hand.

"That's unfortunately true," Chloe concurred sourly. "The email was sent to their general account. No message, just the attachment with the pictures."

"Can you trace it?" Oliver questioned.

"No," Chloe complained. "Total dead end, which only convinces me _more_ that something's up. An innocent photographer wouldn't put so much effort into hiding their identity."

Oliver's lips pressed to a thin line.

"Well, the photos are everywhere," Bart threw in from his place on the floor, stretched out in front of one of Oliver's many laptops. "And I mean _everywhere_. You two aren't getting around this any time soon."

"Why is this so fascinating?" Chloe wondered out loud. "Forget the fact that it's not true, why are people so interested in this?"

"Cause gorgeous," Bart explained plainly. "Ollie's number three on _People's _top ten list of eligible bachelors. The possibility of him settling down with a small town girl is practically a gossip rag's wet dream."

"I'm only number three?" Oliver asked sceptically. "Who beat me?"

Chloe's head swivelled slowly to stare at him disdainfully. "Tell me you did _not_ just ask that," she ordered.

"Dude, you're top three," AC grumbled. "How is that not good enough?"

Ignoring their disapproval, Oliver looked expectantly at Bart.

"Clooney number one," Bart told him. "Wayne number two."

"Bruce Wayne beat me?" Oliver exclaimed dubiously as he moved towards Bart and crouched down to look at the computer. "That guy's a dick!"

"That little detail didn't keep you off the list," Chloe observed wryly, toasting Oliver with her coffee mug when he threw a scowl at her.

"Do you ever Google yourself?" Bart asked Oliver curiously. "Cause the stuff they have on you is nuts! I could have happily gone through life without knowing your shoe size."

"I've seen some of it," Oliver shrugged. "I have to say though; it's getting totally out of hand. I miss the days when there was a little less glare from the cameras."

"World's changing," AC remarked philosophically.

"I blame Paris," Oliver offered lightly.

"The city?" Bart asked; his brows furrowed in confusion.

"The heiress," Oliver clarified with a grin. "Ever since she started flaunting herself around, the media's been lumping all us trust fund babies and Captains of Industry into the celebrity stratosphere."

Head tilted, Bart looked at the older man speculatively. "Did you date Paris Hilton?"

"No!" Oliver answered immediately, but then paused, unable to keep the smirk off his face.

"I dated Nicky," he explained. "Nice girl. Wonder how she's doing…"

"I can't even begin to imagine what its like to be you," Bart proclaimed, the mix of admiration and wonder in his voice causing Chloe's eyes to roll condescendingly.

"Alright," Victor announced as he emerged from Oliver's Green Arrow locker to join the group. "I've gone through all the possible calculations and there are five buildings that the photographer could have been in when he snapped you two."

"Crap," Oliver mumbled, "that's more than I would have liked."

"Well," Victor explained dryly, "I can't get it whittled down any more than that without knowing what kind of lens the guy used. There are just too many variables."

Four heads bobbed at him in understanding.

"However," he continued as he crossed the room and sat down beside Chloe on the sofa. "I was able to find out something interesting about one of the buildings on my list."

"And that would be…?" Chloe prompted impatiently.

"I can't be completely certain," he qualified, "but I think it belongs to that Wynlie Group that's been giving you guys the run around."

"Really?" Oliver asked gravely, his gaze sliding towards a wide-eyed Chloe.

"Perhaps I made a bigger impression than I realized," she opined contritely.

"I should have made you wear the helmet," Oliver griped, shaking his head.

"Look, I could be wrong," Victor offered, though no one in the room paid the admission much credence. "I mean, you guys weren't kidding when you said the paper trail on this company is all over the map, but if I'm right, it'd be too big to chalk up to coincidence."

"So, I'm guessing another trip out to the warehouse is in order?" Chloe noted, watching as the gears in Oliver's head started winding up.

"Not for you," he answered sternly, unaffected by her automatic sulking, "but for the rest of us, yeah."

"Well, you can't go tonight," she fired back cantankerously. "You have your _soiree_."

"Dammit!" Oliver bellowed, having forgotten all about the benefit.

"Simmer down, amigo," Bart reprimanded. "You're gonna give yourself a coronary."

"Bart's right," Victor agreed. "Just learn to delegate a bit, would ya? We're here now, so we'll do the warehouse recon and you can go fulfill your billionaire duties."

"Fine," Oliver relented unhappily.

"What about me?" Chloe asked. "What am I gonna do?"

"Sit here, stay out of trouble?" Oliver suggested flippantly. "Think you can handle that?"

"Not fair," she argued crossly. "Why are you allowed to go out, but I have to stay locked up? We're only guessing that whoever took the pictures was following me. It's still possible that you're the one that's being watched."

"Why don't you go to the fundraiser together?" AC suggested reasonably, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Um, shall we revisit our discussion about how we're _not _a couple?" Chloe snarked as she stared at AC in disbelief. "Showing up arm and arm tonight would be a little counter intuitive in our efforts to make that clear."

"Just thinking you could kill two birds with one stone," AC drawled nonchalantly. "You could watch each others' backs _and _stage a photo shoot to take the wind outta the paparazzi's sails."

"It could work, you know," Bart admitted, despite Chloe and Oliver's expressions to the contrary. "Right now, the purse for pics of you two is huge cause no one has any. If you show up tonight and give them exactly what they're looking for, the lustre on this story goes bye-bye."

"Well, I'll pass," Chloe trilled sarcastically. "My ball gown's in my other bag. Haven't got a thing to wear."

"Whatever," Victor threw in breezily, nodding his head at Oliver. "Ol' money bags here can hook you up with something."

Looking for Oliver to back her up, Chloe glanced at him pleadingly and was floored to find him contemplating the matter seriously.

"God," she muttered dejectedly. "You're actually considering this, aren't you?"

His eyes met hers appraisingly as he quietly weighed the pros and the cons.

"Sorry Sidekick," he finally said with a grin. "Looks like you're arm candy tonight."


	8. The Exception to the Rules Part 8

**Part 8: Sloppy Seconds Buy Fancy Dresses**

**

* * *

**

"Lois!" Chloe called into her cell loudly, trying to interject through the non-stop chatter AC, Bart and Oliver could actually hear coming from the other end of the line.

Holding the phone away from her ear, the little blonde heaved a ragged sigh and paced the room before trying again. "Listen! Breathe for one second!" She begged. "This is all a misunderstanding…"

The buzz coming from the cell didn't let up and Chloe's eyes closed as she pinched the bridge of her nose, hard.

"Chloe's been on the phone with her for fifteen minutes," Bart remarked lowly from his seat on Oliver's couch, irrationally scared that Lois would somehow hear him. "How can she still have stuff to yell about?"

Sitting upon either side of the younger man, both AC and Oliver's brows quirked at the question, their eyes watching for any grooves Chloe's marching was wearing into the floor as they listened interestedly to her limited side of the conversation.

Sharing Bart's fear of being found out by an irate Lois Lane, AC's kept his voice similarly subdued when he attempted to explain. "Occasionally, Lois can be a little, well…"

"Tenacious? Long-winded? Ferocious like a freaking grizzly protecting her cubs?" Oliver supplied easily.

"All of the above," AC nodded succinctly.

"Runs in the family, huh?" Bart grinned as he cut his eyes towards the blonde woman whose current lap around the room was bringing her straight towards them.

On cue, the three men pulled their legs up and out of Chloe's way as she ploughed past them distractedly, too focused on translating her cousin's ranting to pay them any mind.

"I already told you," she stated, the patience she usually reserved for Lois beginning to fray. "Oliver and I were going for coffee when I ran into Jimmy. He was just being a good friend."

Chloe paused, squinting at the phone as she listened.

"I'm not _sampling your sloppy seconds_!" She spat suddenly.

"Um, ouch," Oliver muttered, just a little insulted.

"I didn't let you get scooped!" Chloe protested disbelievingly. "There isn't anything to scoop! I'm sorry, but didn't you quit the Inquisitor so you could _rise above the tabloid trash_, as you so eloquently put it?"

"Honest to God, I am seriously frightened of this woman," Bart admitted, his expression perplexed before his head swivelled from AC to Oliver. "What were the two of you thinking when you dated her?"

"That, among other things, she's hot," Oliver offered.

"Hella hot," AC agreed, his voice wistful.

"Masochists," Bart accused wonderingly.

"He wasn't _pawing _me," Chloe disagreed, finally looking at her audience and mouthing a plea for _help_, to which all three men gestured enthusiastically for her to just hang up the phone already. Deeming their suggestion inappropriate, Chloe brushed a dismissive hand at them and resumed her steady march.

"You know," AC began, fixing Oliver with a sceptical look. "There did seem to be a bit of pawing in those pictures."

"I didn't _paw_," Oliver opposed indignantly.

"That _hug _you laid on her was mighty snug," Bart pushed, a note of jealousy in his voice.

"She was upset," Oliver explained, ignoring the discomfort that surged through him as the memory of Chloe staring at him so brokenly momentarily resurfaced. "I just wanted her to be okay."

AC and Bart both watched him suspiciously, searching for signs.

"I realize it may be beyond you two," he condescended, "but it _is_ possible to care about a woman without trying to get into her pants."

"Yeah, they're called relatives," Bart snarked. "Everyone else? Fair game."

"So, you admit you care?" AC pressed.

"Don't the both of you?" Oliver countered archly to which Bart immediately nodded vehemently.

"Of course we do," AC allowed, "but do you think she would have let one of us comfort her like that if we'd been there instead of you?"

"She and I just get along, in our way," Oliver stated exasperatedly, more than ready to close the book on the topic.

"Isn't that what I'm saying?" AC grinned.

"Lois!" Chloe yelled intensely, interrupting the guys' discussion and pulling their attention back to her.

"This is it, okay?" She scolded through the phone. "I love you dearly, but if this call goes on for one more minute, I may have to consider disowning you."

Perfectly still, Chloe waited for the response from the other end, suddenly frowning as she once again pulled her cell away from her ear and stared at it in consternation.

"You think we look _hot_ together?" She shouted, stupefied. "My ears are practically bleeding from the past twenty minutes of haranguing and now you're telling me we're _hot_?"

AC and Bart smirked at Oliver.

"What?" He shrugged aloofly. "I don't necessarily disagree with that. I am hot."

"Good-bye Lois," Chloe announced with finality, signalling that the conversation was drawing to a close.

She was about to snap her phone shut, when her cousin said something that caught her off guard and made her smile wearily.

"Yes, I know I'm still your favourite," Chloe droned with a tired laugh. "And you know you're mine… even if you are a huge pain in the ass."

With one more good-bye, she was finally able to click her phone closed and, free at last; sagged into the closest chair, wholly exhausted.

"And here I thought Clark was gonna be the tough cookie," AC noted to her with a smile.

"While Clark can be his own brand of stubborn," Chloe agreed, alluding to the equally frantic phone call she'd received from her best friend. "He's got nothing on Lois."

"Cookies!" Bart exclaimed suddenly, jumping to his feet and zooming to the kitchen.

Just then, a computer that had been abandoned on the coffee table during Chloe's tête-à-tête with her cousin began beeping, alerting the room's occupants to an entry request coming from the elevator. Leaning forward, Oliver smiled and turned the machine around so Chloe and AC could appreciate the look of intense displeasure on Victor's face as he waited impatiently.

"The errand boy has returned," he announced, all three of them smirking as they recalled Victor's profound unhappiness over drawing the short straw and being forced to take on the _demeaning_ chore of collecting the dress that had been ordered for Chloe.

Clicking the button, Oliver sat back against the couch and they all watched as Victor trudged into the apartment, laden down with some of the biggest shopping bags Chloe had ever laid eyes on.

"What the hell is all that?" She stuttered as Victor approached her purposefully.

"These," Victor explained curtly, dropping four overflowing parcels unceremoniously to the floor, "are filled with shoes, make up, jewellery, hair crap, and a whole bunch of other stuff I can't be bothered to try and remember."

AC and Oliver chuckled at their teammate's obvious aggravation.

"And this," Victor continued, hefting a massive garment bag off of his shoulder and letting it land heavily on top of Chloe, "is your dress."

"This thing weighs a ton!" She exclaimed. "Clothing isn't supposed to be this heavy!"

"Don't look at me," Victor retorted. "I'm just the delivery guy."

She shot a glare at Oliver, who quickly raised his hands, assuming an innocent pose.

"I just gave the woman on the phone your size and asked her to pick out something appropriate," he told her.

Bracing herself, Chloe scrambled to her feet and heaved the dress back at Victor.

"If I can barely carry it," she explained, pushing out a breath from the exertion, "then I can't wear it."

Victor's lips set crossly and he shot a meaningful look at Oliver.

"You fight with her," he ordered, "I'm putting this thing in the guest room."

With that, Victor turned on his heels and began marching towards the second bedroom, Chloe's eyes trailing after him with sudden curiosity.

"What does it look like?" She called inquisitively.

"Do I look like _Donatella Versace_ to you?" Victor snapped over his shoulder as he disappeared down the hall. "How the hell should I know?"

Eyes wide, Chloe gasped and took off after him. "Is it _Versace_?"


	9. The Exception to the Rules Part 9

**Part 9: Allen, Bart Allen**

**

* * *

**

"Dayum, Ollie!" Bart crowed, jumping up from the couch and rounding the piece of furniture as Oliver entered the living room, dressed in a sharply cut, black tuxedo.

"Now _that's _what I'm talking about!" The younger man enthused. "Can you hook me up with one of those?"

Pausing to adjust one of the cuff-links on his starched, white shirt with perfect, casual aplomb, Oliver arched a quizzical brow. "What do you need a tux for?"

"What _don't _I need it for?" Bart replied eagerly. "Think of the senoritas I could get if I was decked out like that all the time! The red hoodie is fine and all, but if I had _that_… the babes would be powerlessto resist me!"

"I think you're giving the suit a bit too much credit," Oliver chuckled.

"No way! That tux is pure Bond," Bart proclaimed, "and I'm talking Daniel Craig Bond, not Pierce Brosnan Bond."

"What's wrong with Brosnan?" AC mumbled through a mouth full of food as he and Victor strolled out of the kitchen to join the conversation. "He was good."

"_Goldeneye_ was okay," Bart allowed, "but Brosnan's cheese-factor got way outta hand by the end of his run."

"Connery was the best Bond," Oliver interjected as he leaned a shoulder into the wall and tucked his hands into his pants pockets, the pose – coupled with the tux – proving downright debonair.

Bart looked at him with pure pity.

"_Connery_?" The young man questioned distastefully. "God you're old."

"I'm a purist," Oliver corrected.

"Yeah," Bart agreed, "an old one."

"It's called maturity," Oliver drawled. "You might want to try it sometime. It goes better with the tux."

"Is that your way of saying I'm getting a tux?" Bart asked hopefully.

"No," Oliver grinned.

"You bought Chloe a new outfit!" Bart protested. "And judging by the size of it, it's probably a freaking expensive one! A tux can't be _that _much."

"Chloe has a reason for needing the outfit," Oliver stated plainly as he lifted his arm and glanced at his watch. "Speaking of which, is she ready yet? We need to get going."

"I have a reason," Bart muttered as he ignored Oliver's question.

"She's still primping," Victor supplied, laughing at Bart's sullen disposition, "and I strongly advise against going in there to try and hurry her up. AC gave her a time check half-an-hour ago and got a shoe thrown at him for his troubles."

"Four-inch heel!" AC confirmed animatedly. "I coulda lost an eye!"

Oliver's brow furrowed suspiciously. "Please tell me you didn't walk in on her when she was naked."

"Of course not!" AC defended. "I'm not some kinda perv. I knocked very politely."

"He made fun of the hot rollers in her hair," Bart tattled with a grin, the memory of Chloe's fury helping him through the disappointment of his tux request getting shot down.

"She looked _hilarious_," AC offered by way of explanation. "The things women do to themselves…"

"You know, the fact that none of you have girlfriends really boggles the mind," Oliver deadpanned as he pushed away from the wall and sauntered towards the hallway that lead to the guest room.

"Chloe!" He called out. "Time's up! Let's get a move on before I'm late for my own event!"

"I can't wear this!" She hollered from within the second bedroom, her voice faint behind the closed door, but the aggravation it contained unmistakable.

"Too bad!" Oliver answered back with a smirk. "All my tuxes are too big for you, so there isn't any other outfit in this penthouse that's black tie appropriate! You're stuck with the dress!"

Moving to stand with his teammates, Oliver listened for any signs of life coming from the guest room. The seconds ticked by and he was about to go marching in after her when he heard the sound of the door clicking open, followed by a soft, rustling noise that had all four men waiting in curious anticipation.

Holding both arms securely across her chest and blushing profusely, Chloe seemed to float into the living room, a vision in dusty rose. The dress boasted an intricate, strapless bodice that wove itself around her tiny figure elegantly; satiny material hugging tight to every curve before melting into a skirt of thick, billowing fabric and feathers.

"Damn," Bart breathed out, long and slow.

Visibly squirming beneath their collective gaze, Chloe tightened the grip she had around the dress and frowned.

"I can't wear this," she repeated stubbornly. "It molts."

To illustrate her point, she swung her hips back and forth delicately and the resulting swish of the full skirt caused specks of the little, adorning feathers to drift up around her.

"Woo! Shake it!" AC whooped delightedly, earning a withering glare from the lady.

"It's just new," Oliver assured her. "By the time we get to the gala, it'll be fine."

"Oliver, it has feathers. _Feathers_!" Chloe sulked. "I look ridiculous!"

"No, you look unbelievable," Bart corrected dreamily, his eyes fixated on her.

"See," Oliver smirked. "Rave reviews."

"Victor?" Chloe pleaded, hoping to find one supportive ally in the crowd.

"Sorry Watchtower," Victor shrugged. "But that's one hell of a dress."

"Easy for you to say," Chloe grumbled, hauling the bodice up higher and keeping her arms wrapped firmly around it. "You're not the one who has to walk in it. I'm going to trip!"

"You're not going trip," Oliver groused. "Honestly, you're the only woman I know who can find a problem when a room full of guys are telling you that you look beautiful! Now take your arms down and quit covering yourself up!"

"I'm not covering up," Chloe shot back. "I'm holding up!"

She sighed mightily, freeing up one of her hands and pointing to her own back.

"There's nothing but buttons and hooks and – possibly – a hidden zipper, back there," she complained. "I can't get it done up."

Oliver's hand instantly smacked down onto Bart's shoulder and held him in place, knowing exactly what the young man was going to do before Bart even knew it himself.

"_Nice_ catch," AC complimented, truly impressed.

"Sit," Oliver instructed seriously, his heavy hand pushing his teammate to the couch.

Bart's face was all indignant innocence. "I was only going to help!"

"Help yourself to a feel is more like," Victor laughed, his comment actually getting a blush out of the usually unflappable Bart.

"No!" Bart argued before pausing to reflect. "Well, maybe a little."

"Stay," Oliver ordered, releasing Bart's shoulder and crossing the room towards Chloe.

Mindful of the extravagant skirt, he came to a stop behind her and reached out to gather the sides of the bodice together, his precise hands setting to work at securing all the various closures that ran down the piece of couture. Standing perfectly still, Chloe could feel her blush deepen and her breathing doing funny things as his fingers danced against her bare skin, her eyes dropping to stare at the floor because suddenly, things just felt far too intimate.

"There," Oliver announced as her slid the final satin button into place and ran his hands along her sides to smooth out the material. "All set."

Hoping the gulp of air she'd swallowed when his hands had reached her hips had been imperceptible, Chloe let her arms finally relax and took a few measured steps out of his reach, testing the added weight and circumference of the voluminous skirt before turning carefully to face Oliver.

"I still think I'm going to trip," she mumbled anxiously.

"I'll catch you," he promised with a grin

Despite her fretting, she found herself returning his smile, her eyes sweeping over him and taking note of his appearance.

"You look nice," she praised, trying to keep her tone light. The fact that he looked good in a tux was a no-brainer on paper, but to see it – up close and personal – was pretty damn striking. "Very James Bond."

"See!" Bart exclaimed. "It's working already!"

"What's working?" Chloe asked curiously as three of the men chuckled and one grumbled unhappily.

"The tux inspired a debate over the best Bond," Oliver explained, glossing over Bart's theories about the suit and its effect on women.

"Well, you gotta go with the man who set the standard," Chloe shrugged. "Sean Connery's always going to be the real Bond."

With the exception of Bart, who tossed his hands in the air dismissively, the chuckling in the room grew.

"Is it worth my time to try and figure out what's so funny?" She asked them all simply.

"Even if it was, it doesn't matter cause we have to go," Oliver answered.

"Right, I'll go grab my purse," she nodded, shooting the boys a peculiar look as she navigated the gown back to the guest room.

"So," Oliver began, clapping his hands together and facing his team. "Are you guys all set for your little trip out to the warehouse?"

"Been over every detail and got the mission all worked out," Victor replied automatically. "It'll be a piece of cake."

"You've reviewed all the building plans?" Oliver checked.

"Twice," AC informed him. "We're gonna be able to bust in there blind folded."

"And you know what you're looking for, right?" Oliver continued. "We don't need anymore supply lists. Just keep it to anything related to the Wynlie Group."

"Geez, _Dad_," Bart heckled with an eye roll. "We've done this kinda stuff once or twice before. We know what we're doing."

"I know, I know," Oliver muttered. "Just making sure."

"Will you guys get outta here already?" AC scolded as Chloe came back into the room with a small clutch in her hand. "Go have fun!"

"What part of this night do you figure is going to be fun exactly?" Chloe asked dryly. "The paparazzi vultures who'll be trying to blind us or the scintillating company of Metropolis' self-appointed aristocracy?"

"Just _try _to have fun," AC smiled. "Despite what you think, it won't kill you."

"That remains to be seen," Chloe snarked, taking Oliver's offered arm and letting him lead her towards the elevator.

"Remember Chloelicious," Bart piped up. "If 007 there starts getting handsy again, _no means no_!"

Stepping into the elevator and spinning to face the young man, Chloe shot Bart a smile and Oliver leaned out to pin him with a glare.

"That's a warning for _your _dates, little man," he mocked. "Not mine."

"_Pseudo_-date!" Bart corrected loudly, just before the doors closed and blocked him off.

"Punk," Oliver muttered as he reached out and tapped the appropriate button.

"So," Chloe mused beside him. "What was with the inside joke I wasn't privy to?"

"Oh, Bart just accused me of being _old _because I said Connery was the best Bond," he explained. "He wasn't pleased when his precious Chloe agreed with me."

"_Old_?" she laughed. "Right, cause you're ancient."

"In Bart's mind, anyone who can legally drink is old," he observed lightly.

"Well then, I'm surprised he bothers with me," she quipped, smiling.

"I'm sure he makes an exception for you," he noted.

"Lucky me."

Reaching down to arrange her dress, she noticed that they were headed to the building's parking garage rather than the main level.

"Got a plan to give the paparazzi the slip?" She inquired knowingly.

"The garage is secure and the limo's windows are tinted," he stated. "This way we can hold off on any camera flashes until we get there."

Chloe's nose scrunched at yet another reminder that she was about to be put on display for the world, but knowing that Oliver wasn't looking forward to the feeding frenzy either, she wisely kept her belly-aching to herself.

"What? No bike tonight?" She snarked instead.

"Didn't want to chance a return of your awful helmet head," he joked back, remembering what her last turn on his motorcycle had done to her blonde hair.

"Jerk," she admonished, slapping his arm in retribution.

"Hey now!" He grinned. "You admitted your hair was a disaster that night!"

"Yeah, yeah," she groused as she reached up and began fussing absently with her curls.

"Don't go getting all self-conscious," he chided gently as he took her busily preening hand in his own and pulled it away. "It's nice now."

Looking down at the halo of blonde that framed her face, his smile softened.

"Doesn't look half-bad, actually," he added.

"Oh thanks," she grouched. "There's some real encouragement as I head off to get my photograph taken by the national media."

"You know you look gorgeous," he told her simply.

She eyed him sceptically.

"Even with the feathers?" She checked, looking up to meet his gaze.

"Especially with the feathers," he confirmed, his smile widening when she squeezed the hand that hadn't let go of hers.

The elevator came to a smooth halt and the resulting chime alerted them to the fact that they'd reached the garage. Still holding her smaller hand in his own, Oliver began making his way through the opening doors, but stopped when he felt her tug on his grip. Turning to face her questioningly, he found her staring at the floor before them.

"It's dirty," she noted plainly.

"It's a garage," he pointed out, his brow furrowing in amused confusion.

Sliding her hand from his, she gathered up the front of her dress carefully, mindful of the delicate feathers that so enjoyed flying loose, then darted a look behind at the sweeping material that was following her around.

"Little help here?" She requested, one of her feet kicking meaningfully from beneath the dress' train.

"Aren't you the high maintenance date," he chuckled as he put an arm up to stop the elevator door from closing and moved back into the small space to pick up the back of the gown.

"I'm just trying to protect your investment," she informed him tartly as she lead the way out of the conveyor, towards the idling black limo that was waiting for them.

"Makes no difference to me if it gets mucked up," he told her, swinging the part of the skirt he was holding playfully. "It's your dress now."

She shot him an astonished look over her shoulder.

"I can't accept this," she murmured.

"Of course you can," he countered. "Besides, what am I going to do with it? It's hardly my size."

"Or colour," she quipped.

"Exactly," he said as they reached the vehicle and he tipped his head to the driver holding the door open for them. "Good evening Paul."

"Mr. Queen," the man smiled in greeting before addressing Chloe, "Miss."

"Hi," Chloe grinned back before turning to the limo and easing herself in gingerly, muttering grateful thank yous to Oliver and Paul for their assistance in getting _all_ of her gown safely into place.

Once she was finally situated more or less comfortably, Oliver climbed in beside her and the door was slammed closed behind him. Almost immediately, she felt the expensive limo purr beneath her and begin gliding out of the security of the garage and onto the streets of Metropolis.

"While I don't think I could stomach the actual price tag for this thing," Chloe started, picking up their conversation as she motioned to the confection of a gown that puffed around her, "I couldn't help but notice that it really did have a little _Versace_ label. Please tell me you didn't spend a down payment on it."

"Down payment for what?" Oliver asked glibly.

"Car? House?" She offered.

"I didn't spend what I couldn't afford," he replied diplomatically.

"See, that's what makes me nervous," she stated. "What you can afford tends to blow my poor little pocket book to smithereens."

"It's not as if I'm about to ask you to ante up for it," he sighed.

"I know that," she mumbled. "It's just that it's too generous."

"Well, would it make you feel better if we just auctioned it off at the end of the night," he proposed dryly. "We could get you up on stage to model it during the bidding."

She glared at him.

"I'll drop it," she sniped unhappily.

"Good," he said as he patted her knee through the mountains of fabric covering it. "If it helps, you can think of it as part of your cover. A nice, fancy gown to help you blend in with all the elitists."

At his words, she sat up stiffly, a sudden nervousness taking her over.

"What now?" He groaned, hoping she wasn't about to rag him out for suggesting she needed help fitting in. "You look like something's about to bite you."

"I'm fine," she replied quickly, though she didn't look fine in the slightest.

"Please don't make me guess," he complained. "The dress discussion was plenty tiresome and we still have the whole night to go."

"I just…" She paused as she thought about what she wanted to say, her hands gripping at her purse anxiously.

"Yes?" He prodded.

"Is there anything I should know about?" She questioned vaguely.

He looked at her peculiarly.

"Like, etiquette wise?" She clarified awkwardly.

"Not really," he laughed. "I mean, you seem to have a pretty good handle on basic social graces and seeing as there won't be any secret handshakes or code words tonight, I think you'll be okay."

"I'm being serious here," she hissed.

"So am I," Oliver protested as he looked at her curiously. "I know you've been to big events like this before. Why the sudden inferiority complex?"

"Well, yes, I've been a _guest _at stuff like this," she groused, "but I've never been the host's date, or pseudo-date, or whatever."

He frowned at her and that only made her sigh irritably.

"It's just that there's going to be all the photographers and guests," she blurted out, the words hurried. "Between this conversation starter of a dress and being on your arm, everyone's going to be looking at me and I don't want to do anything embarrassing. For me, or you."

Finished, she drew in a breath and stared at him, waiting uneasily for his response.

"You're afraid my guests won't like you," he teased. "That's adorable."

"Do not patronize me when I'm panicky," she warned lowly. "It won't end well for you."

"Sorry, sorry," he apologized with a smirk, tucking away his mirth in favour loosening the worried knots she was twisting herself into. "Just be you and you'll be perfectly fine," he promised her sincerely. "I'll be with you the whole time."

"I thought you had to workthese sorts of functions," she smiled softly, his support calming her nerves. "They're not good date settings, remember?"

"Well, this is a _pseudo-date_," he smiled back.

The limo suddenly pulled to a stop and they both looked out the windows to find that they had arrived.

"Seriously?" She whined before sighing heavily and wondering where her time to mentally prepare had gone.

"Good to go?" He checked.

Steeling herself, she lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and issued him a curt nod.

"Remember not to trip getting out of the car," he added.

"Way to jinx me," she snarked as her eyes darted around the limo's interior, seeking something out.

"The trim on the bar's mahogany," he told her helpfully, grinning knowingly.

She reached over and rapped the fine wood sharply before she started sliding along the seat, gesturing for him to get moving. "C'mon," she urged. "Before I change my mind and ditch you."

"Like you'd get far in that gown," he laughed as the door opened and he swung his long legs out, exiting the vehicle with fluid grace.

Ignoring her pounding heart, she collected the front of her skirt as best she could and forced her feet out of the limo and onto the pavement. With part of the dress gripped in her right hand, she reached back with her left to gather up some more of the material and began moving carefully, her eyes staying glued to the gown so she could save it each time it worked itself into a potentially horrible snag. She was just about to clear the door when Oliver reached down and in one smooth movement, removed her – in all her feathery glory – from the vehicle.

"Figured that would be easiest," he smiled as he steadied her on her feet. "I'm starting to think you might be right about that gown having a mind of its own."

"I tried to tell you," she sniffed haughtily, but her answering smile betrayed her.

Right away, she could feel and see the cameras beginning to flash faster and faster, the buzz among the photographers quickly ascending to a roar over their appearance.

"All set Sidekick?" Oliver whispered against her ear as his arm slid along her lower back to wrap around her waist, his hand coming to rest firmly upon her hip.

"Lead the way Mr. Queen," she breathed as they turned together and smiled for the barrage.


	10. The Exception to the Rules Part 10

**Part 10: The It Girl Busts a Move**

**

* * *

**

Finishing their long procession down the gala's red carpet, Chloe and Oliver entered the Metropolis Grand's hotel lobby with gasps of thorough relief.

"I see spots," she muttered sullenly as Oliver led her to the massive, sweeping staircase that opened up to the building's immense ballroom. "Big, splotchy, purpley-reddish, floating, blurry _spots_."

"Tell me about it," he agreed, squeezing his eyes shut and popping them back open a few times, his head shaking until his vision cleared. "That," he announced, pointing back at the press scrum they'd just survived, "was insane."

"Well, I warned you," Chloe quipped, fishing her hand into her gauzy skirt to tuck up the front as they began ascending the stairs. "Hanging out with me is gonna get you noticed. My celebrity status guarantees it."

"So true," Oliver laughed. "Everywhere I go its Chloe Sullivan _this_, Chloe Sullivan _that_… it's a real burden living in your shadow."

"Not everyone can handle it," she mused just as her heel caught up in the crinoline lining her skirt. Though her stumble wasn't enough to cause a full-fledged trip, it served as a reminder that the garment she was wearing took some serious work.

"Hey, gear down a bit Daddy Long Legs," she muttered as she tugged at him. "The manual this thing came with specifically said it can't take stairs two at a time."

"Noted," he smirked as his pace relaxed and he tucked her arm more securely into the crook of his elbow, ready to make good on his promise to catch her if needed.

When they arrived at the landing without incident, she sighed gratefully and released the dual death grips she had on both the dress and Oliver; comforted by the knowledge that all flooring from here on out was flat and smooth. Entering the ballroom, she felt her breath dispel in slow appreciation as she marvelled at the beauty of the space she now stood in.

Everything was softly lit in light blues, purples and pinks; the colours bouncing strikingly off yards of draped, white silk that hung from all the way up in the vaulted ceiling. A huge band of musicians wearing matching white tuxedo jackets were stationed on the stage, playing whispery music that floated from their instruments and drifted about in perfect harmony with the chatter of the guests and the clinking of crystal champagne glasses. Everywhere she turned, exquisite floral arrangements burst forward – each one a more impressive work of art than the last – their subtle perfumes wafting up around her to dazzle her senses as she breathed them in.

Feeling eyes upon her, she turned to find Oliver looking down at her with a grin, taking in the sight of her taking in the décor.

"Not bad," she shrugged nonchalantly, down playing her awe though her eyes continued to roam the ornate room eagerly, picking out more and more little details to fall in love with.

Unfortunately, her admiring perusal of the venue was cut short when the other guests took note of _the _Oliver Queen's arrival and groups of them quickly buzzed over to snatch up as much of the billionaire's attention as they could.

They worked their way around the room at a painfully slow pace; a charming smile permanently screwed to Oliver's face as he greeted many of the guests by name and offered each one a firm handshake. Chloe watched in amazement as both men and woman alike melted in his presence, practically knocking each other over for the chance to lap up the bits of conversation he was giving away. Following his lead, she kept her own unwavering smile fixed to her lips and nodded politely when the strangers surrounding her stopped adoring Oliver long enough to cut their eyes at her curiously. At first, she made a point of keeping up with all of the names and topics that were flying around her fast and furious, but it quickly became obvious that no one was expecting any conversational contributions from her, so she gave up the effort entirely and, instead, let her eyes drift over to study Oliver's easy grace as he naturally assumed this role his birthright required of him.

She listened carefully as he volleyed ideas for a potential business venture back and forth with a trio of men who were thoroughly engrossed in his every opinion, insight and comment. Demonstrating both business savvy and boat loads of charisma, he pointed out holes in their proposition tactfully; came up with solutions on the fly; and even assembled a list of prospective partners within just a few short minutes. Her fascination with his performance was interrupted when her eyes caught sight of a familiar grin shining in her direction. Her own smile morphing from pasted to genuine, she slid her arm away from Oliver and cut a path directly across the ballroom towards Dr. Marshall.

"Miss Sullivan!" The sweet natured gentleman enthused as she approached. "What a wonderful surprise!"

"So nice to see you again, Dr. Marshall," she grinned as she accepted his outstretched hand and relaxed in the comfort of a friendly face. "And please, call me Chloe… _Miss Sullivan _makes me feel like I'm back in detention."

Dr. Marshall laughed openly. "Only if you call me Charles," he proposed with a wink as he released her hand and with a smile, gestured to the elegant lady at his side. "My beautiful wife Adelle."

Chloe smiled warmly as she shook the lovely woman's hand, instantly appreciating her gracefully aged beauty and unfussy style; a welcome change from all the painted cougars that were prowling around the room.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Chloe," the older woman greeted kindly. "I was just telling Charles that you are – hands down – the prettiest creature in this room!"

Chloe blushed at the praise, recalling similar smiles and compliments she'd received from Martha Kent over the years and feeling the same swell of pleasure at the generous approval.

"It's the dress," she downplayed, immensely satisfied that Dr. Marshall had the good sense to marry a woman who projected the same aura of pleasantness as him. "You can't miss something that has its own gravitational pull."

"And she's modest too," Adelle observed contentedly. "Won't you just be a breath of fresh air!"

"So you decided to try out the _soiree circuit_ after all," Charles smiled teasingly.

Chloe hooked a thumb over her shoulder, gesturing in Oliver's general direction on the other side of the room.

"Like you said," she chirped. "Manipulative."

"The word Dr. Marshall used was _persuasive_," Oliver corrected with a grin as he came up behind her and settled his warm hand flush against her lower back, leaning forward to shake Charles's hand happily and dropping a polite kiss on Adelle's cheek.

"_Po-tay-to_, _po-tah-to_," Chloe mused cheekily.

"I'm so glad you could both make it," Oliver continued, his eyes rolling away from Chloe's snarking with a smile.

"I'd never miss it," Adelle declared. "These events of yours are always a veritable_ how-to-guide_ for hitting up potential benefactors."

Quirking a brow, Chloe was about to ask the older woman what she meant when Oliver helpfully supplied the answer to the question she had yet to voice.

"Adelle chairs _Marshall Continuing Education_," he explained with pride. "It's a free, all-ages learning centre for individuals with special needs and one of the Queen Foundation's favourite charitable organizations."

"I've heard of it," Chloe nodded, surprised she hadn't made the connection herself. "You do wonderful work."

"The teachers do the work," Adelle dismissed graciously. "I just make sure the place keeps running."

"Which is no small feat," Charles complimented, squeezing his wife proudly and reminding Chloe of Martha all over again.

"What about you Chloe?" Charles asked curiously, tearing his adoring eyes slowly away from his wife. "What profession is lucky enough to count you amongst its ranks?"

_Oh, well_, she thought to herself, _I work for the big guy here, running operations for his underground league of superheroes. You know, fighting crime and corruption and basically bringing justice to the known world and all its inhabitants. It's kind of a big deal._

"I run a counselling centre a very good friend of mine founded," she answered instead.

"Really?" Adelle remarked, eyes wide. "As young as you are? That's marvellous! What centre is it?"

"Oh, it's just a small, hole in the wall," she stressed vaguely, hoping her tone was coming across as self-effacing as opposed to secretive. "Our functions are on a considerably smaller scale than this… less champagne, more pizza, really."

Both Charles and Adelle laughed at her deprecating, but she could tell they didn't totally buy her comments and rather, were tactfully respecting her obvious desire to get off the hook. Thankfully, the band chose that moment to launch pleasantly into a new set, which provided Oliver with an easy subject change.

"So, what will it take to get you out on the dance floor, hmm?" he asked her, the taunting tone of his voice lighting smiles on both Charles and Adelle's faces.

"Look," she groaned as she stared wearily at the expanse of polished hardwood that already had various couples creeping out onto it, "you need to learn to quit while you're ahead. You got me here, let's leave it at that."

Her three companions chuckled over her trepidation.

"Well, guess I'll just have to find someone a little more accommodating," Oliver grinned as he turned to Adelle and gallantly offered his arm. "Shall we?"

Returning his smile, Adelle looped her arm around his and sent an enchanting look to her husband.

"Don't wait up darling," she quipped as she and Oliver glided onto the floor, flowing perfectly with the classically understated music.

"I fear my wife may have a little crush on your boyfriend," Charles joked to Chloe as they watched Oliver and Adelle from the sidelines. "I'll be hearing about this for the next month, I'm sure."

Trying to cover up the way her eyes popped out of her head at his reference to Oliver being her _boyfriend_, Chloe found herself stammering out a version of the truth.

"We're not really together, together," she babbled, her hands lifting to make jerky air quotes. She knew she should just let Charles believe the image she and Oliver were projecting, but she was unbearably compelled to set the record straight with this man who had been nothing but nice to her. "It's just, you know…" She scrambled for something appropriate.

"New?" Charles supplied helpfully, his gentle smile proving positively heart-warming.

"Yeah sure, that," she allowed, wishing it wasn't still a lie, but feeling as though she'd at least curtailed the commonly held assumption about them just a bit.

"Well, you two make an exceedingly amiable pair," he lauded lightly. "I thought that the moment you both walked into my office yesterday. In fact – and please forgive me if this sounds condescending – you two remind me of myself and Adelle when we were your age."

Chloe's cheeks flamed scarlet, but his obvious sincerity made it possible for her to smile despite her sudden bashfulness. "Not condescending at all," she assured him. "Quite the compliment, actually."

"Why thank you," he grinned.

Seeming to sense that he'd unintentionally landed her in an awkward predicament, he turned to face her fully, extending his arm towards her.

"I realize that you're not inclined to dance," he began courteously, "but how about you help an old fella show the love of his life that he still knows a thing or two about sweeping women off their feet?"

Chloe laughed apologetically. "I'm worried you'll regret asking me when this dress sends me on my backside and I end up spoiling the effect."

He glanced down at her gown, sharing her smile.

"It is quite the show-stopper," he acknowledged. "Must weigh a ton."

"You don't even know the half of it!" She exclaimed, grateful for some sympathy at last.

He chuckled knowingly. "I venture Oliver got it for you?"

"_Persuasive_," she griped, the simple word causing Charles to laugh heartily.

"Well, you look radiant, so it's not all bad," he appeased, winning her over easily with another one of his grins.

Leaning towards the Doctor with a conspiratorial smile, she motioned for him to do the same. "Promise not to tell him," she whispered, "but I have to admit I kind of like it."

He laughed again, offering his arm to her once more and this time she accepted without hesitation.

"Consider this fair warning," she lectured as they moved easily into the small, waltzing crowd. "I'm not much of a dancer."

"Neither am I," Charles promised. "We'll look awful together."

"Wonderful," Chloe giggled as he guided her effortlessly to the music, instantly proving that he'd out-and-out lied about his dancing prowess.

To their left, she could see Adelle smiling at them delightedly while Oliver's expression was one of mock-indignation.

"Well, we don't seem to be getting through to Adelle," Charles observed wryly, "but we've certainly proven a point to Oliver."

"Let him sulk," she bragged. "It'll be good for that ego of his."

"So this is how it is?" Oliver joked as he and Adelle twirled up beside them, the older woman alight with laughter. "You'll dance with Charles but not me?"

"Obviously," she confirmed flippantly.

"Now, now," Charles reprimanded sarcastically. "No need to get in a huff Oliver, I was merely luring the lady out here for your benefit."

Without warning, Charles spun her arm over her head and deposited her against Oliver's chest where she landed with a clumsy thud. Having vacated her spot with far more grace than Chloe had exhibited, Adelle drifted easily into her husband's waiting embrace.

"A set up?" Chloe exclaimed, her eyes darting between Oliver and Charles. "I knew you two were in cahoots!"

Offering only a smile and a shrug, Dr. Marshall turned affectionately to his wife and together, they sailed off to enjoy their dance in their own little world.

Looking up to find Oliver smirking at her, she readjusted the hold she had on her skirt and shifted slightly to accommodate her new and considerably taller dance partner.

"I can't believe it took a ploy to get you to dance with me," he kidded as he took her hand and began leading her slowly, their conversation dictating their rhythm more than the music. "It's cause he's a Doctor, isn't it? Girls are always after the Doctors."

"Yes, because _billionaires _are so unappealing," she drawled.

"I'm appealing, am I?" He prodded teasingly, his brow quirking as he pulled her closer, forcing her to crane her neck to meet his eyes.

"Oliver, I'm a heterosexual female," she stated blandly. "It's practically _mandatory _that I recognize your appeal, even if it's only in passing."

"Whoa! Don't hold back Sidekick," he laughed. "Tell me how you really feel!"

She paused in that second, suddenly wondering what it was she was feeling. Pressed against his body and pinned by the perfect smile he was beaming at her, it was pretty easy to forget that this wasn't a date. Alarms instantly sounded in her brain and she reminded herself that any ridiculous romantic notions on her part would have her heart handing over its letter of resignation faster than she could say _lack of danger pay_. She'd travelled down unrequited road before and was very aware of the fact that it was a long, bumpy ride that always came to a dead end. Had the best friend to prove it and everything.

"Hey," Oliver called to her softly, drawing her faraway eyes back to his. "What's going on in there?"

Her brows lowered in confusion, so he clarified his question by reaching their clasped hands towards her and tapping her forehead with a gentle index finger.

"Just concentrating on my dancing," she lied through her smile, finding that the Oliver grin he was grinning at her was leaving her both warm and cold.

An unexpected flash lit up in her periphery and her head snapped around to discover a lone shutterbug that had them in his camera's sights. A second flash popped brightly in her eyes and she immediately lowered her head a little closer to Oliver's chest in an effort to hide her face.

"I thought you had security at this shindig," she chided. "Or are all those guys skulking around in the black suits just for decoration?"

"Got to give some of the press access for publicity," he responded, his head lowering near hers in a similar attempt to gain a piece of privacy. "Necessary evil, I'm afraid."

"Sure," she muttered, hesitating for just a second before closing the bit of distance between them and resting her head on his chest; ignoring how those warning bells in her head went from loud to absolutely wailing.

"So, how's it feel to be this evening's _It Girl_?" He asked, his chin pressing against the crown of her head and his chest reverberating under her ear as he spoke.

"_It Girl_?" She questioned wonderingly. "Is that what I am?"

"The talk of the room," he confirmed as his hand drifted against the material of her dress, stroking her back.

"Never been that before," she admitted quietly, the words honest, surprised.

"Somehow I doubt that," he contradicted and she could actually _feel_ his smile.

She was struck by the sensation, unable to figure out when exactly she'd come to know all of his smirks, grins and smiles so terribly well. Lost in her own musing, she barely noticed as their conversation faded away and they lapsed into a comfortable silence, both swaying slowly with the music as the band wound seamlessly into a new song and their first dance melted into their second.

_It Girl_, she pondered thoughtfully. She'd be lying if she didn't admit to having a daydream or two about being _that _girl when she was younger – a Lana or a Lois. Despite the fact that she'd grown far more comfortable in her own skin over the years, she still held a little piece of that envy that used to turn up every once in a while during her childhood. No matter how easy it was to recognize that her own charm and wit and beauty were wholly appealing, there was always going to be a little, spunky, tomboy that wondered what it would like to be the girl that the Clarks and the Olivers of the world bowed down and worshipped.

At that moment, the bonafide Prince Charming she was dancing with let his hand absently glide up her spine; his fingers pausing to caress her neck before grazing a delicate path across her bare shoulder blades.

Her heart hammered erratically in her chest and she gave herself a mental pat on the back for having the foresight to hide her face against his chest, knowing he couldn't see the color spreading warmly through her cheeks. Despite her better judgement, she threw caution to the wind and indulged by sinking deeper into Oliver's arms, letting her inner _It Girl_ bask in it all – at least until they stopped dancing.


	11. The Exception to the Rules Part 11

**Part 11: And So We Meet Again**

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Brows quirked, Chloe's eyes travelled the enormous ballroom and took in the rather impressive sight of Metropolis' _finest _collectively eating right out of Oliver's hand.

Looking very much at home in the limelight, her pseudo-date was standing centre stage with a microphone, delivering a ridiculously charming speech that was hitting every note his audience wanted to hear with perfect pitch. She wondered idly if he'd written the little piece of oratory gold on his own or if he'd commissioned some no-name wordsmith to craft it especially for the occasion. Either way, it hardly mattered. Though the message itself was thoroughly moving, it was his effortlessness that was really selling each sentence.

Wherever she turned, starry-eyed women from all across the age spectrum had their heads tilted to the side and sighs on their lips; each one committing every single inch of Oliver to memory. It would get interesting when they'd take a break from their day dreaming to shoot suspicious glares in her direction, trying – and failing – to be inconspicuous as they pointed their perfectly manicured fingers at her and overtly sized her up. As offensive as it was, she couldn't be bothered to meet the scrutiny with anything but bored indifference. After all, she wasn't _actually _his girlfriend, so there wasn't much point in getting riled up over their blatant disapproval.

What did, however, dig under her skin and make her feel positively slimy were the leers she'd caught a few of the men toss at her. Apparently, money didn't buy manners because whether they were old, young, ugly, or even handsome, there was a handful that really seemed to enjoy leaving their eyes on her longer than her tastes allowed. She'd always been a girl who felt most at home with boys and now, as she faced down inappropriate advances with flawless icy glares, she longed for the comfort and security of the group of men she counted amongst her dearest friends; the ones who looked her in the eye instead of all over the rest of her. Well, except for Bart, but she still liked him.

Shaking away the gag inducing creepiness, she squared her shoulders and tried to return her attention to Oliver's speech, but the way the hairs on the back of her neck rose alerted her to the approach of more unwanted attention.

"Champagne Miss Sullivan?" A tall, sturdily-built man asked, offering her one of the two flutes he held in his hands.

"Uh, thank you," she accepted apprehensively, balancing the drink between her fingers and keeping it far away from her lips.

"Mitchell Edwards," the man informed her, leaving the hand he had used to pass the glass outstretched. "Head of Queen Industries' security."

"Oh," Chloe mumbled as she took his waiting hand and shook it, hoping her fingers survived the solid grip. "Nice to meet you."

"It's Chloe, correct?" He checked with a stiff smile.

"Yes, it is," she answered. "How are you enjoying the evening?"

"Well, these sorts of things aren't exactly my strong suit," he admitted as his weak smile turned into a slight grimace, "but it's been rather nice so far."

"I know the feeling," she agreed, her manners dictating that she force a small smile of her own forward and at least attempt a little bit of small talk. "Have you been with the company long?"

"Practically a lifetime," Mitchell stated proudly. "After we lost Robert and Laura, I helped keep things running. Once Oliver was ready to assume his position as CEO, it was my job to show him the ropes."

"I'd say you did an excellent job," she complimented as her attention drifted back to the stage and Oliver.

"He's a quick study," the older man concurred, following her gaze, "didn't take long for the student to become the master."

Chloe smiled and was about to ask Mitchell more about his role at Queen Industries when he cut her off abruptly with another question of his own.

"So, how did you two meet?" He queried lightly, though his eyes were starkly assessing her as he took a measured drink of champagne.

"We have some friends in common," she stated carefully, something in his tone causing her discomfort to surge back.

"And you've been dating for a while?" He continued, the words pressing, almost challenging.

"It's still a very new relationship," she answered immediately, her expression composed as she met his sudden hostility with steady self-assurance.

"Still testing the waters, huh?" He observed interestedly.

"In a manner of speaking," she agreed. "I have to ask Mr. Edwards…"

"Mitchell," he corrected.

"I have to ask, _Mitchell_," she amended tersely. "Do your duties always include interrogating Oliver's girlfriends or is it just the ones who make public appearances?"

He smiled stiffly at her again, clearly pleased that he'd managed to hit a nerve.

"You misunderstand me," he explained plainly. "It's a simple matter of curiosity. Oliver doesn't often introduce any of his… female friends. In all honesty, I can barely remember the last time he had a date accompany him to an event."

"Well," Chloe responded dryly, "these sorts of things _obviously_ aren't excellent settings for dates."

"True enough," Mitchell conceded, his amused grin still fixed in place. "So, what is it that you do Chloe?"

"I'm surprised you don't already know," she opined acidly, "haven't had time to run a background check on me yet?"

When he didn't reply and, instead, just kept right on smiling, she was shocked to realize that he'd done just that.

"Wow," she quipped icily, "must have been a slow day at the office if you spent it researching me."

"Hardly," Mitchell refuted, eyeing her meaningfully. "You're an interesting young woman. I can see why Oliver likes you."

Chloe balked at the praise, noting the censure that was clearly infused into it.

"Well, I am a treat," she snarked as she handed her untouched drink back to him. "Now if you'll excuse me, I was just headed to the ladies room. It's been a real pleasure."

"Chloe," he called out, stopping her before she could depart. "I sincerely hope I haven't offended you but, as I'm sure you can imagine, it's important to be careful in my line of work. Oliver is worth a formidable fortune and corporate espionage isn't just fodder for action movies."

"Of course," she allowed as she nodded curtly and turned again to storm away.

Fleeing to the relative quiet of an adjacent hallway, she huffed out an insulted growl over Mitchell Edwards and his interrogation tactics; hating the fact that the man had rattled her. While she could grudgingly accept that his prying was probably par for the course in this world beyond her pay bracket, it was still hard to shrug off the treatment.

Angry, uncomfortable and needing far away from the ballroom, she scanned her surroundings and noticed a small, discreet sign with the word 'terrace' printed in elegant script. Figuring that the great outdoors would more than suffice in this pinch, she hiked up the front of her dress and began marching in the direction the sign's arrow had indicated; her heels tapping out a steady beat against the immaculately polished floor.

Reaching a set of chic French doors that opened to a large balcony, she stepped outside; leaving behind the music and conversation filtering out of the ballroom. Rubbing her arms to stave off the late evening chill, she moved to the terrace's thick stone railing and discovered the beautiful view of a perfect, flourishing garden. She let out a slow breath as she took in the gorgeous patch of green space that was obviously a perk the hotel afforded its guests; offering the rich clientele a quiet sanctuary right in the heart of bustling Metropolis. _Must be _nice, she mused as her gaze wandered approvingly over the spectacularly groomed lawn that was dotted with artful flower beds and trees wrapped in glittering strings of lights. The ambience was beyond mesmerising and without prompting, an image of she and Oliver strolling under those twinkling, little lights floated into her mind.

Her body stiffened in shock as the realization that she was fantasizing about Oliver dawned quickly. Letting out a groan of disapproval, she leaned heavily against the railing and cursed her stupid, overactive imagination for daring to flirt with the idea of an infatuation. She hadn't been lying when she'd told Oliver that she recognized his appeal – hell, she had eyes – but despite that, she'd always considered herself immune to the kind of frivolous attraction he inspired in so many women. Together with AC, Victor and Bart, they worked and fought and did whatever they could to make the world better and that common goal – that _bond_ – was far greater than any starry-eyed crush. At least, it had been before she'd made the mistake of dancing with him.

The sound of approaching foot steps suddenly interrupted her private pity party and she glanced about apprehensively to see who had intruded upon her. Through the dim lighting, she caught sight of a man entering the garden below; his purposeful strides easily traversing the stone path that cut across the green lawn. Struck by a suspicious sense of familiarity, she leaned further over the railing to get a better look at the stranger, but was only able to glean that his generic black suit placed him firmly within the ranks of the Queen Industries' security detail.

Inexplicably intrigued, she watched as the guard silently surveyed the grounds that fanned out in front of him, apparently checking for anything or anyone that seemed amiss. After a few moments of careful consideration, he lifted a hand to his ear and spoke.

"Riley here," he announced to the empty garden. "Section 8 is clear."

Realizing that the bizarre recognition she had for the man most likely stemmed from having seen him on patrol at some point during the evening, she sheepishly called quits on her spying. Figuring her _critics _inside had already noted her absence and begun judging her for it, she reluctantly bid good-night to her peaceful surroundings and turned to leave, only to have her nosiness instantly renewed when the sudden chiming of a cell phone rang out below.

Creeping back to the edge curiously, she watched as the man removed his ear piece with one hand and fished his cell out of his jacket pocket with the other, immediately flipping the little device open to offer his caller a brusque greeting. Crouching down, she poked her head through the space between the railing's sculptured stone supports and peeked over the balcony; deliberately eavesdropping. Unfortunately, her efforts went unrewarded as the guard's side of the conversation was nothing more than a useless collection of jerky nods and vague grunts that didn't give her a thing to work with.

Just then, it occurred to her that she was hanging half-way off a balcony, getting an outrageously expensive designer dress filthy, and doing it all in the name of listening in on some random security guard's boring phone call. Other girls didn't do this. Other girls took advantage of the opportunity to waltz around in said dress, while sipping delightedly on bubbly and dutifully playing girlfriend to the country's third most eligible bachelor.

Loath as she was to admit it, there was no denying the possibility that her lifelong passion for snooping had managed to warp her irreparably.

Deciding she had to throw in the towel an the entire, misguided waste of time before somebody actually saw her, she shot a scowl at the object of her ire and readied herself to leave. Her eyes were just moving off of the man's form when he turned ever so slightly to his left, allowing the light from a nearby lamp post to cross his face and illuminate his features.

It was the security guard from the warehouse; the wannabe fullback that had tackled her.

Vowing _never _to doubt her instincts ever again, she hooked her arm around the railing and dropped her shoulder so she could pass easily through the supports to lean all the way out over the edge, feeling positively smug as she stared down at her _friend _from four nights ago.

She listened as he offered his caller one last affirmative noise before he brought the conversation to an end and snapped his cell shut forcefully. Returning the phone to his jacket pocket, he tucked his ear piece back into place and let his gaze sweep out over the space around him once more. Seemingly satisfied that he was still alone and having completed whatever it was that he was up to, he started sauntering off in the direction from which he came, taking his leave.

She wasn't sure what possessed her to do it, but she was overwhelmingly irritated that he was just getting away, so without thinking her actions through in a style that would have put even Bart to shame, she jumped to her feet and let out a shout.

"Hey!"

The guard's eyes went right to her and if she'd had any lingering doubts about his identity, they would have been immediately put to rest when she had the chance to look him square in the face. Most likely recognizing her as well, he broke from the path he was following in a dead sprint and headed for the street that bordered the hotel's property line.

Despite knowing, first and foremost, that she didn't have a hope in hell of catching him and second, that she really wouldn't be able to do a damn thing to him if – by some miracle – she actually _did_ run him down, she nevertheless grabbed up her dress, burst through the terrace doors, and went flying down the hall. Her best hope was that he'd gift her some sort of clue if she could make it to the street in time to catch a glimpse of him as he beat his hasty retreat.

With the skirt of her dramatic gown billowing full behind her and her impractical shoes proving treacherous against the smooth floor, she skidded determinedly around a corner at full speed, only to crash into a pair of strong arms that swept her clear off her feet and spun her around.

"What the hell?" Oliver shouted as he managed to bring them both to an abrupt, but thankfully upright, stop. "Where have you been and where's the freaking fire?"

Shocked by his surprising arrival, Chloe went still and silent, staring directly into his face for a full second before her brain revved back into gear.

"He's getting away!" She shouted, twisting out of Oliver's grasp and instead, fixing her own grip on his arm to pull him along.

"Who?" He demanded agitatedly.

"The fullback!" She exclaimed then realized how unhelpful the nickname was. "I mean the guard from the other night!"

"What?" He hollered, his confusion stalling his movements, which seriously impeded her forward progress.

Realizing that their collision had cost her precious seconds she couldn't afford to lose in a race that was already stacked against her, she resentfully acknowledged that the guardwas now more than long gone. Heaving a frustrated sigh, she eased up on Oliver's arm and came to a stop.

"You know," she sniped as she whirled on him, hands braced upon her hips. "For a hero_, _you're pretty slow on the uptake!"

"What… _take_?" Oliver enunciated slowly as he dropped his hands heavily to her shoulders and clearly warred with the urge to give her a good shake.

Hardly intimidated by his glowering, she swatted at his hands until they slid off of her then took his arm and began walking them slowly back to the ballroom.

"C'mon, I'll give you the play by play," she muttered, "but for next time, if I'm running like that, there's a legitimate reason. It's best to just follow me first and ask questions later."


	12. The Exception to the Rules Part 12

**Part 12: Better to have Furballs than Nothing at all**

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"So, tell me again how you totally blew your cover and yelled at the guy," Oliver requested dryly as he and Chloe marched through the back ways of the Metropolis Grand, en route to the hotel's underground parking facility. "That's my favourite part."

Clinging to his arm and practically running to keep up with his hurried strides, Chloe shot him a look of contempt. After filling him in on her surprising encounter out on the balcony, they'd immediately begun trying to extricate themselves from the gala so they could get back to the penthouse and thoroughly investigate this latest development. Of course, leaving the party had proved as mind-numbing as entering it, given that Oliver was required to take yet another tour about the room to offer his guests thanks and farewells. While Chloe had found the first time around tedious, the second lap was pure torture as the same people said the same things, one after another. She'd been seriously contemplating drowning herself in one of the elaborate champagne fountains when Oliver had suddenly hustled her through an emergency exit and – forgoing the main staircase and the paparazzi riddled front doors – began leading her through the Grand's service hallways with familiar ease.

"I already admitted that it wasn't one of my finer moments, okay?" She snapped resentfully. "So, how about we let it go and focus on the fact that my _buddy _from the warehouse was here, sporting the same _Men in Black _knock off as the rest of your company's crew."

When she'd first hinted that one of his security guard's was apparently moonlighting for the Wynlie Group, she hadn't missed the dark look that had crossed his face. Being Oliver though, he'd managed to quickly school his features and skate right over the disconcerting detail, choosing instead to keep up the rapid fire questioning he'd been subjecting her to as he attempted to get the full scope of the situation. Now, however, she'd graduated to full-out implying that something was amiss within his organization and if the very visible ticking along his jaw was anything to go by, she was fairly sure he wasn't going to be able to gloss over the issue quite so casually this time.

"They wear non-descript, black suits," he ground out bitingly. "Not exactly hard to get your hands on one of those."

"Granted," Chloe pressed, her feet nearly sliding out from under her as Oliver cut a sharp right to take them down yet another endless hallway, "but he checked in with someone on his earpiece. He was working this event."

"You can't be sure of that," Oliver argued disdainfully, earning an equally condescending look from Chloe.

"That's _exactly _what I'm sure of," she corrected pointedly. "What we need to do is crack open your personnel files and see what's what."

"You want me to investigate my own people?" He balked, clearly offended.

"Yes, yes I do," she shot back, eyeing him reproachfully, "and it wouldn't be such a big deal if you'd stop acting like this was a criticism of you for one second. Queen Industries employs tonsof people. It stands to reason that, _perhaps_, one of them is colouring outside the lines."

"It's _my _company," he replied lowly, his eyes levelling her with a stony gaze, "and the fact that you think it could be corrupt – even just a bit – is something I take very personally."

Fed up with effort it took to simultaneously wage war on his stubbornness _and _sprint to keep up with him, Chloe planted her stilettos and let her free hand join the one she already had on his arm, effectively throwing him off his irate pace with one mighty yank.

"What the hell?" He cursed as he spun around to face her, his expression hard.

"You're being stupid and it doesn't suit you," she bit out tersely, his anger hardly a deterrent in her mind.

"Watch it," he warned her gravely.

"Or what?" She fired back. "Do you think I'm bringing this up to spite you? Is that what you think of me?"

Something inscrutable passed over his face, but before she could identify it, he was raking a hand roughly through his hair and his eyes were avoiding hers, choosing instead to focus on the blank wall past her.

"The idea of my house being out of order doesn't sit well with me," he admitted tensely, the anger he'd been directing at her changing course to zero back in on himself.

"And I don't blame you for that," she offered kindly, reaching out to poke her index finger gently into his abs until he finally looked at her once again. "Just stop aiming those arrows of yours at the messenger."

The cheesy line dragged the smallest of smirks out of him and its reappearance on his lips lifted a weight off of her that she hadn't realized she'd been shouldering.

"I'll gladly be proven wrong, but only after we're sure," she promised him, the finger she had pressed against his side sliding absently along to hook into his jacket pocket and hang there. "Until then, I'm not going to let you turn a blind eye to this."

He nodded slowly, knowing she was right, but still reluctant to give way to her suspicions.

"I just have a really hard time thinking anything like this could be going on," he explained quietly. "My head of security runs a tight ship. Something like this could never get by him."

The disgusted snort was out of her before she had any chance of stopping it.

"What was that?" He asked, a deep frown spreading across his brow.

"Nothing," she answered automatically, her cheeks colouring as she released her loose hold on his jacket and tried to wave away her gaffe. Leave it to her to renew a fight just as soon as she'd managed to broker a little peace.

"Then why the weird face?" Oliver inquired, his eyes narrowing.

"What face?" Chloe quipped, her finger circling the very features in question. "This is the only one I have."

"Yeah," Oliver agreed, "and it did something weird when I mentioned my head of security."

"It's nothing," Chloe repeated, trying to stave off his interrogation, but he continued to eye her doubtfully.

Releasing a cranky growl, she gave up and allowed herself to be defeated by his scrutiny.

"Your security guy, Mitchell Edwards, I met him and he's a jerk, okay?" She blurted out.

"He came up to me while you were giving your speech and laid the third degree on me, asking about my intentions, or whatever, and telling me how _corporate espionage isn't just for the movies_, blah, blah, blah."

"Really?" Oliver checked; his surprise evident.

"That's why I went out to the balcony in the first place," she explained. "He was being weird. Not to mention rude and kinda creepy."

"Mitchell's never been the most subtle guy," he allowed slowly, "but that's a little blunt, even for him."

"Yeah, well," she quipped carelessly, "have fun trying to get a girlfriend with him playing chaperone."

Oliver eyed her strangely. "Who says I'm looking for a girlfriend?"

She hadn't meant for her comment to be anything other than the usual banter they were always flinging at each other, but if the odd look he was pinning her with was anything to go by, she'd clearly missed the mark. To make matters worse, a weird little voice in the back of her brain had started badgering her to ask him if remark was intended for the female population in general or her specifically.

"We're getting off-topic," she deflected as she grabbed at her skirt and moved around him, continuing down the hall despite the fact that she didn't know the way to the garage. "We need to get back to the penthouse, see if the guys came up with anything during their outing, and start screening your security operation."

"Chloe," he called after her, still standing in the same spot she'd left him in.

"This isn't the time to get into this," she tossed over her shoulder, unhappy with the unsettled feeling the turn in the conversation had produced within her.

"Get into what?" He called again. "I'm just trying to tell you that we need to take these stairs."

She tripped to a stop and turned to find him holding open a door that she hadn't even noticed. Blaming the dress and the party and the dancing for messing with her head and throwing her off her game, she returned to his side with a red face and passed through the exit without looking at him, quickly picking the metal railing that ran down the wall to support her instead of his offered arm.

Their steps echoed noisily through the hollow stairwell as they descended flight after flight, neither one even attempting to speak over the foreign divide that seemed to have suddenly sprung up between them. Eyes glued in front of her feet, Chloe tried to jostle aside the strange feeling of foolishness that was gnawing at her uncomfortably. She knew she should write off the whole _girlfriend _exchange and never give it a second thought, but something about his words left her struggling to figure out what he meant and the fact that she couldn't let it go was only adding to her rattled state.

"I can tell that we're not talking," Oliver announced from behind her, his genuinely puzzled voice breaking their stalemate and carrying easily thanks to the surrounding acoustics. "Thing is though, I'm not really sure why…I thought we ended our argument."

"We did," she answered simply, telling herself that she couldn't look back at him because she was scared she would trip. "I'm just thinking, that's all."

"You've been doing a lot of that tonight," he noted cautiously.

"I think all the time Oliver," she chided as she reached up and tapped the side of her head. "It's always busy in here."

"I know, but you're usually pretty good about multi-tasking while you do it," he pointed out observantly. "It makes me wonder what could possibly be so fascinating that it takes up _all _of your attention."

She paused, mid-step, wondering what he was getting at as apprehension mixed in with the foolishness she already felt and her anxiety jumped from mild to catastrophic.

"What do you mean?" She asked carefully, looking up at him for the first time since they'd left the hallway however many floors above them.

He face was contemplative as he moved to her side, watching her with worried eyes.

"I know I don't have any experience in this area," he began earnestly, his statement quickly drawing a confused frown from her, "and I also know that you don't just pour yourself out when it comes to this sort of stuff, but if you need to talk, I'll listen to every word. I may just be some guy you know, but I'll listen."

Her bewilderment was absolute and she could only stare at him quizzically until his meaning dropped down on top of her like a city bus from at least five storeys up.

He was talking about her divorce.

While she was busily reminding herself not to go and get all attracted to _him_, he was worried about the trauma she was supposed to be enduring due to the _very _recent dissolution of her marriage. Eyes sliding shut wearily, she marvelled at the fact that Jimmy hadn't dumped her long before because, lately, she seemed to be stumbling over one example after another of just what a horrible wife she must have been.

"I didn't mean to upset you," Oliver murmured, his hand sliding apologetically over her arm. "I know you want to work and keep your mind off of all of this, but maybe you should be taking time for yourself."

"No, no," she stuttered her hand waving away the concern. "It's not that."

"Then what is it?" He asked, the soothing touch on her arm drifting down to take her hand and hold it supportively.

"You shouldn't be so nice to me," she told him with a miserable laugh. "I don't deserve it."

"What?" He questioned, taking his turn to be confused.

"The whole divorce really isn't bothering me as much as it probably should," she admitted shamefully. "If I'm feeling anything, it's more embarrassment over the fact that it was such a spectacular failure than any kind of heartbreak over losing Jimmy."

Her confession finally voiced, she released a painful breath and let the guilt swallow her whole.

"God," she muttered, raising her free hand to cover her eyes, "that sounded even worse out loud than it did in my head."

She could feel his hand at her wrist, pulling her arm away from her face as he stooped to meet her mournful stare.

"You're not an awful person," he assured her.

"Aren't I though?" She argued lamely. "I mean, how did I let it get this far? What was I thinking?"

"You wanted to be happy," he remarked knowingly. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"He deserved better," she declared dejectedly.

"Not better," he corrected, squeezing her hands, "just somebody who's right for him."

She sighed deeply, trying to let his words seep in past her guilt so that the hopeful part of her that was hollering out in agreement stood a chance. Ever since Jimmy bitterly labelled them over, she had willingly accepted the blame for the destruction of their marriage, figuring her self-recriminations were fair penance for completely screwing up something she was supposed to love. In her own, messed up way, she actually found it easier to cast herself as the bad guy than admit that she really didn't break her and Jimmy. They never truly fit to begin with.

"Don't be mad at me for saying this," he requested gently, breaking through her deliberating. "But I never really understood how you planned on making it work. I mean, don't get me wrong, Jimmy always struck me as a good guy who really cared about you, but how were you going to deal with all the secrets?"

"I guess I just thought it would figure itself out," she answered feebly, the response – like so many other things – coming across as utterly ridiculous when she heard it out loud.

"I know it sounds stupid," she added self-consciously, "but all that stuff always managed to sort itself out before, so guess I just thought it would keep going that way."

"Did you ever consider telling him about your extracurricular activities?" He asked carefully, his tone devoid of any accusation.

"No," she replied resolutely, without a single shred of hesitation.

Oliver eyed her meaningfully. "Had you ever thought that you could just give it all up, walk away from the double life and live just one with him?"

"No," she repeated, this time quietly, resigned to this revelation.

"I know that feeling way too well," he confided softly as he tugged her hand and encouraged her to resume their trek down the stairs. "You and me," he continued, gesturing between them with his free hand, "we're the type that run _towards _the burning building instead of away from it, even though we don't have any fancy powers to help us out. Not everybody can understand that."

"So, what you're saying is that we're idiots," Chloe noted weakly, unable to resist.

"Yes," Oliver agreed with a boyish grin. "We're idiots and we can't just sit back and live the life that works for everybody else. We're never going to be able to settle into that."

"Is this your way of telling me I should start buying some cats?" She asked, his words striking a chord deep within her and bringing her – and her banter – back to life.

"Cats are nasty," he scowled disapprovingly. "Mean little buggers."

"Well, I'd rather have furballs than nothing at all," she joked.

"You're not going to end up alone," he told her confidently as they finally reached the bottom level and pushed their way through the heavy metal doors that lead to the hotel's garage. "Bart will wear you down long before that ever happens."

The laugh that burst out of her was desperately needed and felt wonderful. Smiling up at him through her chuckles, she could tell by his answering smile that a thank you wasn't necessary.

Seeing Paul and the limo waiting for them patiently, they made their way over to the vehicle just as Oliver's cell began ringing in his pocket. He pulled out the device and grinned as he took in the familiar number that flashed upon the display screen.

"Speak of the devil," he mused as he pulled the door open for her.

"Bart?" She ventured as she accepted his help into the car and scooted over for him to follow her in.

"Naturally," he smirked as he slid into his seat, flipped the phone open and raised it to his ear. "How did it go?" He asked without greeting, motioning to Paul that they were all set to leave.

Whatever Bart's answer was, it drew an exasperated sigh from Oliver and he pulled the phone down to look at her. "He says he won't give me a report until he knows how your night was," he explained.

"Tell him you were a perfect gentleman," she snickered.

"You get that?" Oliver questioned as he went to back to the call, listening for a second before a scowl settled upon his features. "No! She's not just saying that. Could we maybe get to business?"

"Put him on speaker phone," Chloe requested as the limo pulled smoothly away from the hotel and started back towards the penthouse.

Nodding, Oliver raised the divider to separate them from Paul, then lowered the phone and hit a button that caused Bart's distinctive rambling to quickly fill the vehicle's cab.

"Whoa, start again," Chloe instructed the young man. "We missed what you said when we switched to speaker."

"Chloelicious!" Bart's voice crackled delightedly. "When are you getting back here? I've been practicing my dance moves and wanna take you and that dress for a spin."

"I'm kinda danced out for the night," she said with a smile as Oliver's eyes rolled.

"Boo!" Bart objected.

"You gonna say something useful anytime soon?" Oliver cut in dryly.

"All work and no play makes Ollie a dull boy," Bart noted. "Right Chlo?"

"Something like that," she agreed. "I have to admit though, I'm pretty curious about how your excursion went as well."

"Well, if it's _you_ that's asking," Bart kidded before turning serious. "We went, we conquered, we didn't find a thing. The place was a ghost town."

"What do you mean?" Oliver demanded with a frown.

"I mean it was empty, clean, nothing, nada," Bart elaborated. "There was barely even any furniture."

She wasn't sure how he did it, but Oliver's frown managed to deepen some more. "We were just there," he groused confusedly. "It wasn't the liveliest place, but there were at least signs of life."

"Yeah," Chloe agreed. "Big signs of life that tackled the crap outta me! Who, by the way, I ran into again tonight."

"The asshole that tried to squish you?" Bart exclaimed disbelievingly. "What the hell was he doing there?"

"Working security," Chloe answered simply.

"I thought Ollie's people were covering that," Bart stated, perplexed.

Even though the young man should have been perfectly safe on the other end of the line, Chloe worried that Oliver was going to find a way to strangle him through the phone for inadvertently bringing up that particular sore spot.

"We're going to look into it as soon as we get back to the apartment," Oliver answered gruffly, clamping down on the anger the topic clearly stirred in him. "Let's get back to the warehouse," he continued. "It was really empty?"

"That's what I said amigo," Bart swore. "It was totally cleared out."

"This just keeps getting weirder and weirder," Chloe observed as she and Oliver shared a look, both of them wondering what exactly all of this meant.

"Okay," Oliver began authoritatively, his eyes going back to the phone in his hand, "we're on our way right now and as soon as we get there, we're all gonna sit down and hash this out. Even if it kills us."

"Oh yay," Bart grumbled sarcastically. "Doesn't that sound delightful…"

"Put on coffee!" Chloe instructed.

"See you in five," Oliver offered in parting as he went to shut off the phone.

"Wait!" Bart called out, halting Oliver's thumb just before it ended the call. "There's something else you two should know."

"What's that?" Oliver asked, his free hand lifting and motioning for Bart to hurry up and make his point.

"Uh, so a certain Boy Scout was here waiting for us when we got back," the young man began slowly.

"Clark?" Chloe questioned. "What did he want?"

"Well," Bart hedged, "it didn't really make a whole lot of sense, but he was going on about best friends, playboys and ass kickings."

"Excuse me?" Chloe stuttered.

"It was kind of a red-blue blur," Bart explained. "Literally. Anyways, it's very likely that he's down in the garage waiting for you two."

"Fantastic," Oliver groaned.

"We're pulling for you!" Bart cheered as he quickly hung up the phone.

Clicking his cell shut, Oliver swung his eyes to Chloe and stared at her pointedly. "Thought you said you had him calmed down when you talked to him earlier."

"I did!" Chloe protested. "But its Clark, _anything_ could have happened between then and now."

They felt the car make a turn and slow to a pause, waiting for the building's security system to grant them entrance. There was a beat of quiet, followed by the mechanical whir of the garage door rolling open.

Sure enough, Clark Kent was the first thing they saw as they pulled in, his posture, even from a distance, screaming extreme displeasure.

"Seriously," Chloe griped, "why does he do this?"

"Cause he's your best friend and he cares about you," Oliver stated generously, fairly certain he knew what had the Boy Scout's shorts in a knot.

"Pssh," Chloe offered glibly. "A butinsky is what he is."

"I'm telling him you said that," Oliver smirked.

"Please," she dismissed casually. "Like that's the worst thing I've ever called him."

Oliver lowered the divider as the limo rolled to a stop to find Paul looking back at him questioningly, his eyes darting a couple of times to the tall man angrily pacing outside the vehicle.

"No worries, Paul," Oliver assured the driver, nodding his head at Clark. "He's a friend… Maybe not so much at the moment, but true in principal."

Paul could only nod uncertainly.

"You can just head on home," Oliver continued with a smile. "We've got the doors."

The picture of relief, Paul eagerly bid them both a good night as they began climbing out of the car.

"Clark," Oliver greeted once he exited, taking a moment to duck back into the vehicle's cab to help Chloe out.

When they were both standing, facing their friend, Oliver slammed the door closed and gave the roof a rap, signalling to Paul that he was free to go, which the man did immediately. All three of them watched tensely as the limo pulled around and exited the way it entered, their surroundings falling uncomfortably silent with its departure.

"So, how's it going?" Oliver asked cheerfully, his voice ringing out with false merriment as he unofficially called a start to the showdown they were all expecting.

"Big night?" Clark questioned tightly, purposefully ignoring Oliver as his eyes swept over their clothes.

"Just hit up the drive thru," Chloe snarked. "I had some mad Mickey D cravings."

"This isn't funny Chloe," Clark replied.

"I'll say it isn't," she agreed sardonically. "What are you doing here?"

"What are _you _doing here?" Clark challenged back. "You just ended things with Jimmy and now you're splashed all over the gossip pages and going to…"

He struggled for the right word as he gestured to her dress.

"A Gala," Oliver tossed in. "Charity benefit, to be more precise."

Bright blue eyes swung to Oliver and shot him a warning glare that had Chloe hoping her best friend had left the safety for his heat vision on.

"I'll get to you," Clark promised, the threat making Oliver scoff.

"Okay, let's turn down the testosterone, shall we?" Chloe began diplomatically, her eyes sweeping back and forth between the two men before settling once again on Clark.

"You're jumping to the wrong conclusion," she explained patiently. "Oliver and I aren't in some clandestine relationship. We're just working a case."

"A case?" Clark questioned suspiciously. "Is that why you haven't slept at your apartment in two nights?"

"What?" Chloe barked. "How do you know that?"

"I checked," Clark replied simply.

"Oh, that is just all kinds of peeping tom creepy!" Chloe hollered at him. "I stayed here – in the guest room – because the information we have on this shady company isn't adding up. Oliver and I have been cooped up here researching!"

"Chloe," Clark tried again, his tone softening in an effort to assuage her growing aggravation. "I know that working with the League is important to you, and you guys are doing great things, but don't you think you have enough of your own stuff going on right now?"

"Clark, you know me," Chloe soothed, her eyes glancing towards Oliver. "You know that I need this. I need to be useful."

"Then go to Isis," Clark suggested hopefully. "The work you do there and the people you help, that's amazing and you're great at it. You don't have to put yourself in danger to make the world better."

"She can handle it," Oliver interjected sharply. "You should give her more credit."

As much as she appreciated the vote of confidence, Oliver's comment set Chloe's teeth grinding in frustration as she mentally cursed male posturing, knowing both men well enough to credibly guess what was about to happen next.

"Who are you to decide what's right for her?" Clark fired back, the anger that had been melting out of him returning in full force. "Just because you don't care about putting yourself in the line of fire doesn't mean she needs to do it too!"

"You heard her," Oliver pointed out, "this is what she wants. Not my fault that I'm the one willing to support her."

"Right, you breeze into town with a mission or two and then hit the road whenever it suits you," Clark snapped. "Never mind that her life is here and it's breaking apart, she's expected to just drop everything and help you out whenever you decide you need her."

"Guys!" Chloe tried to interject.

"Really?" Oliver shouted incredulously, the volume of his voice rising noticeably. "Tell me – cause I always forget this – exactly how many _years _has she spent throwing herself into insanely dangerous situations to cover your ass?"

"I don't like putting her in those positions," Clark countered angrily. "I don't try to make it her job."

"Well, that's a real nice sentiment," Oliver spit out derisively. "Too bad you don't actually put it into practice."

Clark's jaw locked menacingly and Chloe knew that if she didn't intervene and quick, _this _was going to become the moment when things spiralled way out of control.

"Seriously, both of you need to shut up…" she began angrily, but Oliver only ignored her and ploughed ahead, undaunted.

"As for _expecting_ things from her," he continued accusingly, "you're the one who just assumes she's here to back you up. Me, I gave her the choice. I asked her if she wanted to be part of all of this and she said _yes_."

"She deserves more than this," Clark ground out. "She deserves to have a life and be with people who have her best interests – her _safety – _at heart! People who care about her for more than just her ability to hack into computers and dig through files!"

"Don't think for one second that I don't care!" Oliver yelled furiously, the sudden intensity in his voice actually causing Chloe to jump in surprise.

The emotional outburst stilled all three of them and the cold, concrete space they stood in became oppressively silent and seemed incredibly huge as they all stared at each other, their faces a mixture of surprise and uncertainty. Coming to her senses first, Chloe recognized the lull as the opening she'd been looking for and decided to take charge of the situation.

"You know what?" She announced, her voice severe. "I get that all of this is out of concern, but you're both treating me like an invalid and it's really pissing me off."

Both men stood tensely, refusing to meet her eyes.

"You two are supposed to be my friends, not my keepers," she admonished sternly. "None of this is up to either of you. I get to decide what's right for me, that's _my _job, got it?"

Clark bent predictably at her words, but Oliver's stance stayed edgy and distracted, his heavy gaze landing on everything but her.

"Is everybody clear?" She checked, her green eyes taking the time to lock threateningly on each one of them.

They both nodded vague affirmations, but Chloe could tell she'd only managed to slap a band aid on the problem and knew instinctively she'd very likely have to deal with all of this again in the very near future.

"Alright, good," she concluded, despite her reservations. "If this is settled, Oliver and I have to go whip the boys into research mode."

"You should let him take you home," Oliver objected abruptly, throwing Chloe off.

"What?" She blinked at him.

"He's right. You haven't been home in a few days," he continued stiffly. "Probably best that you get a night's rest in your own place."

"But what about the security files?" She questioned, floored by the dramatic change of heart he was suddenly laying on her.

"They'll be there tomorrow," Oliver assured her. "We'll go through them then."

"But…" she tried.

"Bart's just going to spend the whole night trying to get you to dance with him," Oliver joked, but it never really reached his eyes. "Why not spare yourself the misery?"

"Why are you doing this?" She demanded, looking at him imploringly, not bothering to lower her voice because Clark would just hear her anyways.

"It's just a night off Sidekick," he promised her.

She glared only the sharpest of daggers, but his eyes just met her abuse steadily, unrelenting in his brand new opinion.

"Fine," she snapped, seriously displeased and undeniably wounded that her decisions were still being managed for her, even though she'd just made a speech about how she was more than capable of making them for herself. "I'll be back first thing," she vowed unhappily, "and whatever it is that you're up to right now had better pass by then."

He reached out and hooked her jutting chin with his forefinger, using his thumb to iron out the tight skin that was holding her furious pout in place.

"Don't be a grouch," he chided gently, his hand falling away slowly. "It doesn't suit you."

With that, he turned and nodded at Clark before making his way over to the elevator and disappearing inside, never sparing her a second glance.

Staring at the closed doors he'd exited through, Chloe felt all of the confusion she'd built up during the course of the night crash over her forcefully, each strange or odd or trying moment she'd shared with Oliver knocking into her one after the other, leaving her mind a hopeless swirl of unanswerable questions and distressing concerns.

"Would you tell me if something was really going on between you two?" Clark asked as he suddenly appeared at her side, the genuine curiosity in his voice dragging her out of her own head.

Frowning, she could only sigh at him exasperatedly as she spun her extravagant dress dramatically and began marching towards the exit.

"You and him just seem really close all of a sudden," he tried again as he easily fell into step right beside her, his eyes darting down to try and figure out where he could walk without stomping on the skirt that flowed full around her.

"Watch it!" She warned, yanking her gown safely away from the danger his big ol' feet presented and making it perfectly clear that she wasn't going to answer his questions.

"This dress didn't make it through the whole night just so you could maim it with your work boots."


	13. The Exception to the Rules Part 13

**Part 13: Projectile Pillows**

**

* * *

**

Staring at the endless list of lattes, cappuccinos, frappes, mochachinos, iced teas and other assorted treats, Chloe considered her situation carefully.

"Miss?" The barista tried.

Ignoring the teenager, she continued her internal debate. It wasn't a matter of choice – almond mocha, naturally – but rather, a question of quantity. Buy one and offend the four men she was about to barge in on. Buy four and just offend the one man she was actually mad at. Buy five and take the high road. Tricky.

"Miss, you're holding up the line…"

Cutting her eyes at the impatient boy, she decided that four was a given. Bart, AC and Victor hadn't done anything wrong so there was no reason to punish them. Plus, it might be handy to earn some brownie points with that trio in case the argument she planned on initiating with Oliver ended up going to the judges for a decision.

As for the fifth… well, she still had the walk to the penthouse to decide whether or not she was going to give Oliver a coffee or just a piece of her mind. She'd be more than fine drinking two if she determined that petty was the way to go.

"Fine. I need five almond mochas," she announced, the acidity of her tone making it abundantly clear that she didn't appreciate being hurried.

She heard the patron behind her mutter a disgruntled _finally_ and her blonde head snapped around to shoot the man a withering glare. Once she was satisfied that she'd sufficiently intimidated the other customer, she turned back to the counter and leaned over it, fixing the barista with a nagging scowl until he looked up from his work with a question on his face.

"One of those needs to be heavy on the cream," she added tersely, thinking of Bart.

Keeping on eye on the progress of her order, she reassured herself that buying the five coffees didn't mean she was going to go easy on Oliver for turning traitor on her. After her unceremonious dismissal from the research marathon, she'd returned to her lonely home and spent the better part of the night planning the chewing out she was going to deliver, itching the whole time for morning to hurry the hell up and arrive so she could get back to the penthouse and go toe-to-toe with the jolly green jerk. To add further insult to injury, the banishment she'd been subjected to meant that she hadn't had the opportunity to collect her things from Oliver's apartment; an injustice that loosely translated into Chloe Sullivan being _laptopless _for nearly ten hours. That, _alone_, was just cause for a verbal lashing of unmitigated proportions.

"Here you go," the barista announced wearily, presenting her with a caffeine laden tray that he slid towards her cautiously.

"Keep the change," she grumbled as she slapped her money down on the counter and snatched the coffee up none too carefully, spinning on her heel to storm out of the shop with the clock tower in her sights.

She was angry. Really angry. A sensible part of her brain tried to point out that she was probably a lot angrier than the situation warranted, but the stinging sense of betrayal she was harbouring made it impossible to give that sort of reasoning much credence. Her work with Oliver and the boys was more than just important to her – more than just doing her part to make the world better – it was her _thing_. The part of her life that made her feel whole.

Even before she and Jimmy spiralled out of control, she had started noticing that the once uncompromising plans she'd crafted for herself pretty much at infancy had become distorted, drifty and woefully directionless. She had spent her entire life operating under the certainty that she was going to be _the _reporter at _the _Daily Planet, only to have it all yanked right out from under her in the blink of an eye. Fate in the form of a pissed off, bald billionaire had rendered her childhood dream effectively useless, so she'd been forced to pick up the pieces as best as she could and claim the Isis Foundation as her consolation prize, hoping that the help she could offer others would compensate for what she'd lost personally.

And Isis was rewarding – there was no doubt of that – but all the warm, fuzzy feelings and congratulatory pats on the back couldn't change the fact that she was trying to carve out a future for herself from someone else's vision. The passion and driving force behind the Foundation was always going to be Lana, whether she was present or not. Though Chloe was proud to shoulder her friend's cause, Isis had always and would always be imbued with Lana's determination to make amends for her own sins and mistakes. Not Chloe's.

From her broken dreams, to her job, and eventually, her failed marriage, she had discovered that everything in her life stirred up the same painful questions. Namely, how had she managed to get herself where she was? Worse still, where was it all going? Then, just when she needed it the most, there was Oliver with a full-fledged, Justice League membership package. He'd once told her that prior to issuing her the invitation, he had worked out an entire sales pitch designed to lure her into the fold. As it turned out, he never got the chance to trot out his dog and pony show because she'd met his question without any considering or contemplating or debating. She'd automatically said _yes_ and that easy answer had felt like the truest thing she'd done in a long time.

Despite only having a handful of freelance work with the boys under her belt, she'd known the League was her place, plain and simple. It was in her bones and she basked in it every time they charged into a new battle, working as a team and depending on each other to help the greater good along. Being Watchtower was fulfilling, challenging, exciting, and everything else that made her feel alive. It was what she was meant for.

Except, of course, when Oliver – the person who'd been her staunchest supporter – decided to go all pod person on her and tarnish her _thing _with one, jarring ousting.

Civility be damned. There was no way he was getting any coffee.

Arriving at her destination, she swung the building's main door open forcefully and didn't even feel the tiniest bit bad about the coffee she sent sloshing onto the gleaming floor. Striding to the elevator, she punched the call button and hustled herself aboard, the enclosed space filling quickly with the hum of her inner turmoil as she watched the little numbers slowly light up in ascending order. Within seconds, she felt the conveyor come to a halt and she turned glowering eyes to the camera in the upper left corner, fully expecting some sort of snarky comment about her obvious disposition to come falling out of the silent speaker at any moment.

She was left a little surprised, however, when the only thing that ended up marking her arrival was the quiet beep that signalled that the doors were unlocked. Jostling her load about, she freed up a hand and pulled the gate open loudly, ready to unleash hell _Gladiator_ style as she stomped noisily into the living room.

Unfortunately, her tirade had to be put on pause when she was greeted by the deafening sound of AC and Bart's combined snoring. The older man's huge frame was spread languidly over the couch, while the younger was tied up in a tangled heap of blankets and pillows as he slept awkwardly on the floor. Cutting her eyes down the hallway to the guest bedroom, she noted the closed door at the end and surmised that Victor had won yet another round of rock/paper/scissor and was most likely enjoying a considerably more comfortable rest in an actual bed.

Wanting an outlet for her rage, she glanced to the desk at the back of the room and was promptly disappointed when she found it empty. Circling around, she looked to see if she had somehow missed the apartment's fourth occupant during her dramatic entrance, but realized it really was just her and the slumbering boys doing their chainsaw impressions.

Undeterred, she made her way over to the kitchen and peered inside, frowning when she discovered that it too held no trace of Oliver. Frustrated, she wandered aimlessly, wondering where he had gotten to because she knew _somebody_ had let her in.

Just then, the familiar sound of fingers rapping against a keyboard filtered down the hallway from Oliver's bedroom and caught her ears. Moving slowly through the darkened corridor, she listened as the tapping grew and through the open door, she could clearly see the light a small lamp was casting within the space. She paused as she reached the threshold, feeling awkward at the idea of entering his room despite the fact that she had a truck load of aggravation with his name on it.

"Are you coming in or are you just going to lurk?" His deep voice rumbled knowingly, the implied taunt in his question instantly dispelling all of her awkwardness and stoking her anger back to a steady burn.

Shoulders pressed back and head held high, she stalked into his room purposefully.

Clad only in a pair of green pyjama pants, he was stretched out on his bed with pillows propped behind his back, ankles loosely crossed, and the computer he was working on resting on his legs. His hair was pure bed head and his face looked worn, but his dark eyes were sharp and alert, glued to the screen as he continued typing, not even looking up to take note of her arrival.

"Well," she bit out through gritted teeth, offended that he couldn't even be bothered to acknowledge her, "aren't we casual."

"Long night," he replied simply, eyes still trained on his computer. "Figured I'd stay in here and give the guys as much sleep as possible, though you might have ruined that with all that stomping around you were doing."

"A rampaging SWAT team wouldn't be able to shake them out of their comas," she refuted. "Besides, the stomping was intended solely for you."

That finally got his attention and his hands stilled as he looked up and met her glare.

"Oh?" He asked, his brows drawing together in a quizzical frown, "and I'm on your shit list because…?"

Her glare narrowed as she tilted her head at him accusingly. "Gee, I wonder?" She snapped.

Eyes rolling, he went back to the laptop. "Should have guessed you'd take last night the wrong way," he stated plainly as his fingers tappity-tapped annoyingly upon the keyboard. "You know as well as I do that a Boy Scout sized hissy fit could have very likely ended with me in traction. I was just trying to head that off."

"I'd already done that," she argued. "All you did was make me look dumb. And stupid. Not to mention naïve."

"Look," he sighed, giving up on his efforts to work as he picked up his computer and set it aside. "I wasn't trying to demean your _girl power_, I just did what I thought would bring about a peaceful resolution."

"By cutting me off at the knees!" She exclaimed, trying to clamp down on her emotions and failing miserably. "What happened to me being part of the team and us being the same kind of idiots? Did you mean any of that?"

"Of course I did," he defended.

"Then why'd you let me down like that?"

He stared at her silently; the same, inscrutable look she'd seen on his face during their argument at the gala returning and staying just as undecipherable now as it had been at its first appearance. She watched as he struggled to say something, wanting desperately for him to shed some light on whatever it was that was thrashing between them, but instead, he drew in a breath and fixed her with a bored expression.

"You're being a Drama Queen," he scolded dismissively.

Even though one Chloe Sullivan was usually worth a thousand words, she hadn't been expecting the hurt that suddenly claimed the inside of her chest; it's apparition keeping her from coming up with a single thing she could say that properly encompassed her disappointment in him. The part of her brain that was usually reserved for all her verbal judo tricks felt utterly beat into submission by his brush off and she knew instinctively that the longer she lingered in his doorway, tight-lipped and pained, the more she risked making a complete fool of herself. Quickly realizing that she was no longer in a position to fight, she abandoned her plans and picked flight, turning away from him to beat a hasty retreat.

She'd barely made it half-way down the hall before he was at her side, pulling back on her arm.

"Sorry," he stuttered quickly. "That was… I'm an ass."

Her lips stayed clamped together and her eyes refused to look at him, unwilling to chance the tentative hold she had on her wobbling self-control.

"What I just said… what I said last night… I didn't mean any of it like that," he promised vaguely, his free hand going to her shoulder, trying to encourage her to look at him. "I didn't do it to hurt you."

"I'm not hurt," she lied bitterly, her voice roaring back to life at the very hint of pity. "I just think you're an ass."

"I just admitted that," he pointed out gently.

"Well, it's true," she snapped tensely.

She wanted to run up to his building's roof so she could scream out her frustrations, or sprint back to her car so she could drive around aimlessly and let herself cry. Maybe even break something expensive of his so she could turn around and give him a _so there_. All she knew was that she needed _something_ that would alleviate all the messy feelings he was stirring up in her.

"Look at me," he requested, his hands holding her in place.

Refusing him, she turned her head to give him her profile, her chin jerking up proudly while her eyes remained downcast and far away from his searching look.

"Please?" He pressed, despite her stubbornness.

Abated ever so slightly by his efforts, she puffed out an angry breath before letting her eyes slide to him, her concession doing little to erase the challenging expression she wore across her features.

"I'm sorry," he told her sincerely, simply.

She could only fidget before him, still too upset to forgive him, but too moved by his dark, earnest eyes to completely ignore the apology.

"I really am," he insisted softly, his expression bare and honest.

"Fine," she mumbled, her head nodding as she shrugged her arms out of his grip.

"We good?" He checked tentatively, crouching to try and catch the gaze that she was still pointedly keeping away from him.

"Yeah," she muttered, needing a bit more time to fully come down off the emotional cliff their fight had sent her clamouring up.

"Good," he breathed, relief creeping unchecked into the word.

They stood together uneasily, both at a loss for what to say as they tried to get back to their norm, each one rattled from the exchange and using this respite to sort themselves out.

"One of those for me?" He asked carefully, his eyes dropping down to the tray full of cooling coffee she still clutched.

Having forgotten what she was even holding, she let her eyes glance down as well then looked back up at him archly when she grasped his meaning.

"No," she told him plainly.

He smirked at her just a bit. "There's five," he observed.

"Two for me."

"Did you get extra shots of _petulant _in those?" He kidded, deliberately keeping any bite out of his tone.

"You don't deserve one," she reprimanded, but the corner of her mouth kept quirking up tellingly.

"Fair enough," he mused as their comfortable repartee finally slipped back into its proper place.

She studied him for a second more before she forgave him completely, divesting herself of the last few shreds of resentment that were lingering around.

"What are you working on?" She asked quietly as she gestured back to his room, the question her own unspoken apology for her share of the outburst.

"What else?" He sighed as he turned and wandered back down the hall, Chloe following him automatically.

They returned to his room and he went straight to his bed to sit down heavily, scooping his laptop back up, while she made her way over to his dresser to deposit the coffees, plucking one out for herself and cracking it open.

"Took us the whole night," he continued tiredly, "but I think we've finally got the Wynlie Group's number."

"And this mystery has been brought to us by the number…?" She prompted, just a little thrilled by the prospect of an actual answer, but also, mildly disappointed that she hadn't been able to be part of discovering it.

_Forgive and forget_, she reminded herself.

"Embezzling," Oliver explained succinctly.

She shrugged, finding the great reveal a little less earth shattering than she'd hoped for.

"Yeah, kinda had a hunch that we were headed in that direction, what with the money trail doing all those figure-eights," she noted as she downed a mouthful of her mocha and frowned a bit. In the future, she'd have to make sure to time any fighting a bit better so she could avoid the travesty that was lukewarm brew.

"Well, sorry to disappoint," he smiled, clearly trying to imagine what sort of elaborate scheme her busy brain had been wishing for. "Would it buck you up any if I told you we have a name?"

Her eyes went bright and the excited anticipation she'd just cast aside zipped back up her spine.

"Colour me intrigued, Mr. Queen," she grinned eagerly, raising her cup to her lips.

"Riley Flynn," Oliver announced.

"Who?" She coughed out, very nearly choking on her drink.

"Even though you have to go all over the place to find it," he proclaimed proudly, trying not to look too pleased over the reaction he'd managed to get out of her, "the Wynlie Group can be traced to a Riley Flynn. It's all ultimately in his name."

"Get out!" She exclaimed as she crossed the room and hopped up beside him on the bed, oblivious to the fact that she shouldn't be sharing the space with Oliver Queen, no matter what the circumstance.

"Did you go through your security's personnel files yet?" She questioned enthusiastically.

"No," he answered slowly, wondering what she'd figured out. "I was waiting for you."

"Bring 'em up," she instructed, practically giddy as she waited to see if she was finally going to get her turn to put a puzzle piece into place.

Glancing at her curiously, he did as he was told and they watched as file after file after file materialized on the screen in quick succession.

"Gimme," she ordered impatiently, grabbing the computer away from him.

Dropping the machine into her lap, her fingers quickly flew across the keys as her eyes darted around the files expertly, seeking out what she was sure she was about to find.

"Gonna share with the class?" Oliver asked, brow quirked as he leaned his head next to hers and tracked the actions she was feverishly plugging into the laptop.

"And spoil the surprise?" She scoffed.

"Suspense has never been my thing," he divulged, his eyes never leaving the screen.

"Fine," she groused, still working away. "Last night, when I caught my security guard out in the garden, he checked in as _Riley_."

"You're kidding," Oliver breathed, his head swivelling towards her.

"I am not," she replied.

"And you didn't think to tell me this?" He questioned dryly.

Her fingers paused and her hair whipped about as she turned to face him, their noses just inches apart.

"Hmm, let's see," she mused sarcastically as she tapped her chin thoughtfully, "there wasn't much of an opportunity to broach the subject when you were ripping my head off at the Grand, and then, your royal rumble with Clark didn't really allow for many segue ways…"

Oliver's eyes rolled guiltily.

"Oh, and as for this morning," she continued flippantly, "I was kinda distracted by my urge to kick your ass, so I have to confess, it slipped my mind… When, exactly, was I expected to tell you about this?"

He reached up and pinched her cheek gently.

"That's cute," he smirked, "you thinking you could kick my ass."

She swatted his hand away and scowled.

"Care to test that?" She snarked.

"Maybe some other time," he grinned as he nodded back to the computer. "For now, consider me properly chastised."

Her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed, but she accepted his surrender and slowly focused her attention back on the waiting computer. Letting her fingers go back to sailing over the keys, she stayed silent and focused until she hit one final button and sucked in a breath, her hands hovering mid-air as the machine carried out her order and began loading.

A second later, a Queen Industries' employee file popped up on the screen; the personnel data and ID photo filling the frame.

"Ta-dah!" She declared victoriously. "Meet Malcolm _Riley_, better known to us as the security guard that tried to pile-drive me into dust."

"This is the guy?" Oliver mumbled as he reached forward and turned the screen in his direction, taking a better look.

"The one and only," Chloe confirmed lightly.

"Could somebody really be so stupid as to use their last name as part of their alias?" He wondered aloud, eyes still trained on Malcolm Riley's stoic photograph.

Her head tilted as she too studied the picture, mulling over the question.

"Well, it only seems stupid now that we know," she pointed out. "Up until this, his tracks have been exceptionally well covered."

"I suppose," Oliver frowned. "If he really is the mastermind, then who's money is he stealing?"

"Yours," a voice announced from the doorway, causing both Chloe and Oliver to look up from the computer they had balanced between them.

"The money Riley's embezzling is getting skimmed out of Queen Industries," Victor finished gravely.

Chloe grew weary as she felt all of Oliver's muscles tighten furiously beside her and she wondered if there was a way for her to slip off of the bed and distance herself from the impending explosion without his noticing.

"You're sure?" Oliver questioned tightly, his eyes firmly locked on the man leaning against the door frame.

"Unfortunately, yes," Victor proclaimed.

The room went quiet as both Chloe and Victor watched Oliver cautiously, the muted rage playing out over his face unmistakable and it promised only the most severe retribution.

"First thing tonight," he stated darkly, his voice way too calm and coolly measured, "me and Malcolm Riley are going to have a chat."

"Maybe the guys should join you," Chloe suggested, her eyes darting to Victor for a little back up. "Just, you know, to keep you from doing anything you might regret."

"I wouldn't regret it," he promised.

"And that would be the problem," Chloe offered dryly.

"Get Bart and AC up," Oliver ordered, his eyes landing on Victor, "we've got some planning to do."

"Will do," Victor said with a nod, turning to leave, but pausing to fix Chloe and Oliver with a look.

"Just a thought," he began blandly, "but you two might want to consider wrapping up this little slumber party… Bart'll have kittens if he finds the pair of you sharing a king sized mattress."

Thanks to his enhanced reflexes, Victor was able to effortlessly dodge the pillows turned projectiles the two heaved at him.


	14. The Exception to the Rules Part 14

**Part 14: Fast Cows and Sacrificial Lambs**

**

* * *

**

Ensconced in the relative peace of Oliver's guest room, Chloe sat upon the sprawling bed with her overworked laptop wheezing next to her. She'd been putting the poor machine through its paces for the past three hours and even though she loved the aging pile of circuits dearly, she had to admit that the time to put her trusted companion out to pasture was drawing near. The thought of saying goodbye to her computer made a strange, corny part of her sad. It had been a constant at her side during her basement dwelling days at the Planet and had even managed to hang in there for her Isis counselling stint, but sentimentality aside, there was no denying that her current line of work was simply – bad puns not withstanding – out of her laptop's league.

On top of that, her most recent bout of online browsing had revealed some sizable lust on her part for one, or seven, of the latest high tech offerings on the market. She'd tried to remind herself that her paltry financial status meant that a hardware upgrade was just a pipedream, but lately, she'd caught herself formulating various hints she could drop Oliver's way. After all, it wasn't exactly begging if she needed it for business.

For now though, she had to force the computer related scheming to the backburner because today was just not the day to try to get favours out of Oliver Queen. Ever since that morning, when they had confirmed that Malcolm Riley was stealing from Queen Industries, the League's fearless leader had set off down the warpath, subjecting each and every one of them to his ridiculously short fuse as he tore around the penthouse, barking out orders.

His rage was completely understandable and really, she and the boys all knew none of it was actually meant for them. Still, that didn't keep their respective senses of self-preservation from sending them scattering as subtly as possible to the various corners of their limited space, silently unanimous in their decision to give their token billionaire a _very_ wide berth.

Playing the girl card, Chloe had managed to secure the comfortable guest room as her refuge. Ordinarily, she wouldn't have ever let any kind of tirade chase her into self-imposed solitary confinement, but it didn't take much to figure out that testing Oliver's patience wasn't the greatest of plans. If anything, she was more worried about him than annoyed, all too aware of the fact that his ranting had nothing to do with the actual money, and everything to do with what he perceived as his failure. If Oliver was anything, he was his own toughest critic and there was little doubt in her mind that the fallout from this whole fiasco would hang off of him long after they resolved the situation. It was also what was going to cost Malcolm Riley his teeth.

Sighing, she let her eyes drift down to the little clock on her screen's bottom, right-hand corner and was instantly relieved to see the numbers creeping past 9:00 pm.

Bad guys and near death experiences aside, the main obstacle the League had to face was the fact that the cover of darkness was an absolute must in order to get anything done. While the disguises' the boys wore were vital for protecting their identity, they just weren't daytime appropriate and that meant lots and lots of hours spent sitting around in holding patterns, waiting for night to arrive.

Turning to the room's window to confirm what the hour told her, she was grateful to see the last slivers of flaming orange light burning out across the horizon, sinking behind the spectacular cityscape as night time settled in. Reaching her arms over her head, she stretched from her fingers all the way down to her toes and convinced her lazy muscles that the time to sit back was finally over.

Snapping her laptop shut, she tucked the machine under her arm and assembled the collection of coffee cups she had amassed from the bedside table. It took a little bit of juggling, but she was eventually able to get a manageable grip on her load and once she was convinced she could make it to the kitchen without disaster, she exited the room, rubbing her shoulder into the wall to flick the lights off as she went.

She entered the living room and was surprised to find it as silent and subdued as the room she had just left. The floor and furniture were both covered with all kinds of evidence that the guys had been there at one point – strewn magazines, discarded video games and controllers, more empty food containers than she could shake a stick at – but other than that, the space was decidedly vacant.

Releasing a motherly _tsk_, she deposited her laptop and the mugs on the overcrowded coffee table and launched into some tidying, idly wondering why so many males were apparently hard-wired to overlook the filth they left in their wake.

"You don't have to clean up," a voice grumbled, cutting through the calm and startling her.

She looked up to find Oliver standing on the opposite side of the room, propped stiffly against the wall with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. Every line of his grim expression conveyed the depth of his dark mood, but rather than feeling apprehension like she probably should have, she instead felt a pang of compassion, wishing he would give himself – and the rest of them – a break.

"You know," she smiled, blatantly ignoring his command as she kept right on with her straightening. "Between you, Clark and the rest of the guys, I should be way more acclimatized to these stealthy entrances you all love so much. It's annoying that they still get me every time."

His posture remained rigid, but his mouth did hitch into a small smirk and all things considered, she counted that as a victory.

"There'd be no point if they didn't make you jump," he admitted grumpily.

"And heaven forbid I spoil your fun," she quipped back.

His head bobbed in agreement and she could have sworn she saw the littlest bit of tension uncoil from around him.

"So," she continued, glancing around the empty room. "Where are the other villagers? Gathering up the pitch forks so we can take down the angry green giant?"

On anyone else, the answering scowl would have been a bad sign, but she welcomed the familiar sight, certain that it was yet another step back to their status quo.

"They're hiding in the kitchen," he replied sourly; the answer, coupled with the way his face twisted bitterly, causing her to laugh openly at the absurdity of it all.

"Can you blame them?" She chided.

"Hey! Let's try to remember that I'm this group's average joe," he exclaimed defensively. "It's not like I can do a whole lot to any of them."

"You wouldn't think that way if you'd ever been on the receiving end of _your _anger," she explained lightly. "It might not be a traditional superpower, but it still packs a wallop."

He arched a brow at her. "Have I ever told you how much I like that glass house you live in?"

Her answering grin was huge and the sight of it finally had his arms unlocking wearily as he pushed off the wall and moved towards her, picking up pieces of trash along the way. Stopping at her side, he reached out and took up the collection she had already gathered, dutifully following her around the coffee table as she loaded his wider wingspan with the mess.

"You know I'm just teasing you," she offered gently, glancing up to meet his eyes as she carefully balanced empty pop cans against his chest.

"Yeah, yeah," he replied, brushing away her assurance.

"C'mon," she prodded. "We're all on your side. Just because you've got more disposable income than some countries doesn't mean we're not taking this seriously."

"I know," he droned, but the response was clearly issued for her benefit and not out of any actual belief that it was true.

Her head tilted at him suspiciously. "Do you also know that the fact that this happened does not make you a bad CEO, superhero, or person?"

He eyed her critically. "I should have…"

"Oh, please!" She interrupted dismissively, waving away his self-recriminations before he could get on a roll. "Shoulda, woulda, whatever!"

She could tell he was trying to hold it back, but the smirk was dancing on his lips again.

"Shit happens Oliver," she continued plainly. "Beating yourself up over this is just going to give you bruises. It's not going to fix anything."

"Wow," he deadpanned, the smirk morphing into a grin. "That's deep. They teach you these pep talks in sidekick school?"

It never occurred to her to be affronted over the fact that he was making fun of her efforts to help him. She was too happy to have him smiling again.

"What I know about being a sidekick can't be taught," she replied proudly. "I'm a freaking prodigy."

He laughed outright at that and she revelled in the sound.

"You're something," he allowed dryly, following her as she turned and headed towards the kitchen.

Upon entry into what had obviously become Victor, AC and Bart's makeshift hideout, she was immediately met by three hopeful expressions.

"Messy cowards," she greeted with a chuckle as both she and Oliver made their way over to the sink to get rid of the trash in the receptacle tucked away beneath it.

"I'll give you the messy part," Bart replied sheepishly, eyeing the quickly filling garbage can. "But cowards? No way."

"We talked it over," Victor explained with a rueful smile, "and after careful deliberation, we decided that you stood the best chance of getting through an interaction with him unscathed. So, we waited."

Oliver's eyes narrowed while she simply smiled.

"Nice to know you all think of me as a sacrificial lamb," she drawled.

"Well, we were right, weren't we?" AC grinned knowingly, nodding in Oliver's direction. "_Princess Pouty Pants _is standing here – _not_ ripping anybody's head off – so clearly, you managed to talk him into a better mood."

Chloe almost choked on the laugh that grabbed her, trying to remember that she'd just finished telling Oliver that they were taking this seriously.

"You try having millions of dollars stolen from you and see how you handle it," Oliver growled, his arms folding back over his chest defensively.

"Yeah, see," Bart chimed in, "us little people don't really know much about that… unless of course our lotto numbers come through some time soon."

"Okay, okay, enough," Chloe interrupted, absently tugging on Oliver's clasped arms until they loosened once again and relaxed to his sides. "Stop picking on him."

The collective snort from Bart, AC and Victor was loud and derisive.

"I'm sorry, did you three have something to say?" She challenged, the sweet lilt of her voice a very dangerous brand of menacing.

Three sets of eyes darted at each other quickly.

"Uh, no?" AC checked tentatively.

"That's what I thought," she grinned. "Now, everybody in the living room. I've got the goods on Malcolm Riley's place and its go time."

Turning on her heel she marched purposefully out of the kitchen, leaving the four men to stare at each other curiously.

"Well, that was interesting," AC observed, breaking the silence as his eyes slanted towards Oliver. "When exactly did she become so protective of _your _delicate sensibilities?"

The retort was almost out of Oliver's mouth, but he was cut off when a certain blonde's sharp command called to them from the other room.

"That wasn't a suggestion!"

"I love it when she gets bossy," Bart grinned as he scrambled to his feet and led the group out of the kitchen.

* * *

One mission debrief and an impressively quick wardrobe change later, the Justice League filed out of the service elevator and into one of back hallways that curled through the bowels of the clock tower; the route known only to the five individuals marching through it with experienced ease. Falling into formation behind their leather clad leader, the group moved as one silent unit, all eyes forward and their progress steady until they reached a heavy set of metal doors. Stepping up the small control panel to the left of the exit, Green Arrow lifted his gloved hand and quickly punched in the code that sent the doors swinging open, revealing a secondary parking garage that housed some of team's fancier toys.

Chloe watched as Oliver strode towards a large tarp at the back of the room and with one grand flourish, pulled the huge covering off of three gleaming motorcycles. Without hesitation, Victor and AC each moved to one of the bikes resting on either side of the familiar green Ducati.

"Why don't I have a bike?" She questioned suddenly, breaking the stoic quiet they'd all been immersed in.

Even with the glasses, she couldn't mistake the funny look Oliver fired in her direction.

"Cause you don't even know how to drive one," he pointed out simply.

"Well, I could learn," she countered, eyeing the sleek bikes with unprecedented interest, all at once forgetting about the reservations she ordinarily harboured against the machines.

Oliver let out a heavy sigh while Victor and AC snickered.

"I could!" She insisted, annoyed by the trio's obvious lack of faith in her.

"The bikes are mine," Oliver offered in an effort to curb her complaining. "I just let Vic and AC use them."

Chloe stared at the two bikes pointedly, noting the silver paint job on one and the orange detailing on the other.

"Ugh, liar," she accused.

"I'm with you," Bart sulked as he sidled up to her and together, they glared at their three teammates reproachfully. "Nobody thought to give me anything either."

"You're the fastest man alive!" AC laughed. "You don't need a motorcycle!"

"That is _so _not the point," Bart stated dismissively, earning an enthusiastic nod from Chloe.

"I swear to God," Oliver grumbled as he turned to his bike and pulled his helmet from its resting place on the handlebars. "I am _never _having kids. This crap is ridiculous."

United in their mutual indignation, Chloe and Bart turned to each other.

"And now he calls us childish!" She exclaimed.

"No respect," her young teammate muttered unhappily, earning another agreeing shake of the blonde's head.

"Hey! _Frick and Frack!_" Oliver interrupted as he scooped up the second helmet from the back of his bike and held it out to Chloe. "Get over yourselves and let's get moving."

The pair looked at the offered helmet and then back to each other, an understanding passing between them that instantly lit knowing grins upon their faces. Rising on her toes, Chloe tossed an arm casually over Bart's shoulders and shot Oliver a smirk, letting him know she was going with an alternate means of transportation.

"Why buy milk when I have a cow?" she chirped.

"Moooo!" Bart threw in giddily; his delight unmistakable as he eagerly wrapped both arms around Chloe's waist and practically hoisted her off her feet.

"You both know you're not nearly as funny as you think you are, right?" Oliver groused.

"Pssh!" Bart countered. "Me and Chloelicious, we're _hilarious_. Part of what makes us so awesome."

"You boys try not to take too long," Chloe instructed smugly as her free hand reached up and clasped Bart's shoulder, getting ready for the adrenaline rush she was about to experience. "I don't wanna get stuck twiddling my thumbs at Isis all night, waiting for you clowns and your crotch rockets to get across town."

"A minute ago, you wanted one of these _crotch rockets _for yourself," Oliver pointed out, his eyebrows quirking at the thinly veiled innuendo.

"Keep your toys Archer," she dismissed triumphantly, "its first class all the way for this girl."

"That's my cue," Bart smirked and in the blink of an eye, the only remaining trace of the pair was a whosh of air and the faint sound of Chloe's amused shriek.

"Dude, I never thought I'd live to see the day," AC declared as his head swivelled towards Oliver. "You just got passed over for Impulse!"

Oliver's eyes rolled as he turned and strapped the now useless second helmet back onto his bike.

"And you wonder why you only got third place on that bachelor list!" AC hooted.

Ignoring the chuckles from both AC and Victor, Oliver pulled his helmet onto his head and glanced at the two.

"Everyone who's dated a Victoria's Secret model, raise your hand," he announced, his own hand automatically popping over his head.

The chuckling stopped immediately and Oliver smirked as he lowered himself casually onto his bike.

"That's what I thought," he stated as he snapped his visor closed and revved the powerful engine beneath him before taking off out of the garage with a piercing squeal of tires.

"You know," AC mused as he turned to Victor, "all things considered, it shouldn't be so easy for him to make us feel inadequate."

"Speak for yourself," Victor retorted as he hopped onto his bike and put on his helmet. "I don't need to brag to know where I stand with the ladies."

"What ladies?" AC questioned as he followed Victor's lead and scrambled onto his bike, tugging his helmet into place. "I never see you with any ladies."

"Remember that samba dancer from Rio?" Victor smiled.

AC was instantly bombarded by the memory of a certain dark haired, dark skinned, silver- bikini-wearing, slice of gorgeous they'd all eyed during their first official _Carnaval _experience a few months earlier.

"No way!" He exclaimed in disbelief. "You so didn't…"

His voice trailed away as the smug look stayed firmly fixed on Victor's face.

"You did?"

"Like I said," Victor noted as he twisted the bike's accelerator, making the finely tuned engine growl with pride. "I don't need to brag."

With that, he lowered his visor and peeled forward, rounding the sharp corner out to the street, the sound of his exit echoing through the garage.

AC stared after his teammate, his face a mixture of shock and scepticism. He'd spent an entire evening trying to talk to that girl, but got shut down. She'd said something about already having a date…

"Sonuvabitch!" He grumbled as he gunned it to try and catch up.


	15. The Exception to the Rules Part 15

**Part 15: Best Laid Plans**

**

* * *

**

Wedging his feet against the worn brackets of the scaffolding he had just effortlessly scaled, Oliver took a second to test the stability of his foot-holds before straightening to his full height and surveying his surroundings.

From his four-storey high vantage point, he could see every inch of the aged industrial quadrant that was spread out at his feet. The space and the matching warehouses that occupied it were a paradoxical portrait of ruin and renew; a weird state of limbo where crumbling buildings were half-way gutted and in the midst of being rebuilt from the inside out.

Back in the 30s and 40s, before city lines had been erased and redrawn, this place had been the heart of Metropolis. At its peak, the self-contained village of factories had raked in a staggering profit, creating thousands of jobs for the city's surging population and churning out goods of all shapes and sizes for an ever-growing country. The glory years were short lived though, with tapering demand and global competition making the area's fall from grace as quick as its ascent to prominence. By the 90s, the once booming epicentre had been reduced to a graveyard and until recently, the whole thing had been slated for the demolition chopping block.

It was real estate developers with their sights set on emulating Manhattan's trendy Meat Packing District that turned out to be the site's last minute miracle; the concept of living luxuriously behind the gritty façade of bygone factories an easy sell to wealthy Metropolites. Within weeks of the project's announcement, all of the available properties had been spoken for and the area became busy once again, this time as a construction zone.

By next year work would be complete, but for now, only one of the several buildings had fully undergone its makeover and it stood out amongst the mayhem as a testament of things to come. Serving as the showcase model, it was still awaiting the arrival of its future tenants, save for the sole occupant of the fourth floor's extensive loft. Apparently, a certain Malcolm Riley had shelled out big time to move in way ahead of schedule.

Zeroing in on Riley's refurbished digs, Oliver scanned the quiet rooftop in search of the perfect target. Opting for the protruding structure that housed the entrance to the building's stairwell, he reached both hands over his shoulders to produce his bow and an arrow tethered to the coiled wire at his waist. Eyes narrowed, he focused on his bulls-eye well over a hundred feet away and with confident certainty, fired.

The arrow sliced soundlessly through the still evening, travelling its trajectory with ridiculous ease before embedding itself deeply within its mark. Swinging his bow back to its resting place, Oliver gripped the slack line and unhooked it from his side, yanking hard to confirm that it wasn't going anywhere, then anchoring it firmly to the metal railings that were holding him up.

Fully satisfied and more than ready to pay Riley a visit, he cast his gaze down to the rooftop to meet AC's horrified expression.

"You have _got_ to be shitting me," AC called up to him, eyes round and huge as they travelled along the skeletal structure Oliver expected him to climb.

"It's not that high," Oliver refuted, a knowing grin gracing his features as he took in his teammate's pronounced anxiety.

"Not that high, my ass!" AC exclaimed, gesturing wildly at the dizzying sight of the ground ever so far away. "Maybe if we weren't already on top of a freakin building!"

Grin still firmly in place, Oliver leaned back confidently and observed the staggering drop with casual indifference.

"I can't help it if this is the best spot to anchor the zip line," he eventually explained with an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders.

"Whatever," AC argued stubbornly. "I know payback when I see it. This is cause I called you _Princess Pouty Pants_."

"_Payback _sounds so rudimentary," Oliver mused. "I like to think of this as karmic retribution."

Beyond irritated, AC flipped him the finger, but the hostility only earned him a chuckle from the leather-clad billionaire.

"Remind me again why I have to risk life and limb with you?" AC sulked, refusing to come to terms with the fact that he wasn't about to get out of this any time soon.

"Cause Cyborg and Impulse already have the ground entrances covered," Oliver stated plainly. "Now, quit your bitching and get up here."

"There has to be a better way…" AC mumbled as his eyes darted furtively around the rooftop.

"Take the plumbing if you want," Oliver suggested mockingly. "I doubt you'll fit through the pipes but, you know, to each their own."

"Ugh," AC grimaced disgustingly, "I just threw up in my mouth a little."

"Seriously, stop being a punk," Oliver reprimanded. "I've watched you dive off waterfalls before and you didn't have any panic attacks then."

"I'm not scared of heights," AC protested. "What's freaking me out is the concrete I'll hit if I fall!"

Toying with the thought of leaving the younger man's whiny ass behind, Oliver was about to issue one last call to action when a familiar voice sounded in his ear, speaking to him from the other side of the city, tucked away in the Isis control room.

"Arrow, what's your status?"

He smiled at her clipped tone, getting his usual kick out of the staunch professionalism Chloe liked to adopt whenever she went into Watchtower mode.

"Trying to get the Fish Stick to take flight," Oliver answered glibly. "And yes, that's as hard as it sounds."

"Wow," she deadpanned, but he could tell she was smiling through her sarcasm. "We've descended to playground rules, huh? Gonna tell him you hate him times infinity next?"

Oliver scoffed. "Cause you and Impulse were pinnacles of maturity earlier."

She laughed outright and Oliver automatically pictured the sight; green eyes squeezed shut in amusement, mouth set in her delighted grin, chuckles abrupt and heartfelt.

"Guilty as charged," she agreed as her laughter trailed off with a giggle. "Speaking of Impulse, all this waiting around is making him real fidgety. What kinda timeframe are we looking at until Aquaman gets this show on the road?"

Reading between the lines, Oliver's lips set in a triumphant smirk. "Impulse talking your ear off?" He surmised.

She huffed just a bit. "Let's just say his conversation is becoming too much like him," she explained. "I don't know where it's coming from and I have no idea where it's going."

"It's your own fault," he lectured teasingly. "You could have been spared the babbling if you'd come with me."

"I was making a stand against injustice," she argued good-naturedly, "which reminds me, I want an equal rights amendment worked into this team's charter, stat."

He laughed again, relaxing into the bars of the scaffolding. "So, you're saying you want motorcycle lessons?" He asked, his tone hinting at a challenge.

The line was quiet with her pause and he could only imagine all the points and counterpoints being weighed in her blonde head.

"Maybe a zip line course too," she spoke finally. "That'd be pretty awesome."

His smile was massive. "This is you signing up for full-fledged duty, isn't it?" He hooted. "I knew I didn't give you a cool code name for nothing!"

"Consider it an introductory trial," she clarified, issuing her disclaimer. "The whole thing's null and void if I manage to land myself in the hospital attempting either."

"Not gonna happen on my watch," he promised, the line between them humming with things unsaid.

"Are we doing this tonight, or what?" Victor's annoyed voice suddenly cut in, the com crackling with his interruption.

Remembering the mission at hand, Oliver looked down to check on a flustered AC.

"I'm waiting for Aquaman to live up to the _man _part of his name," Oliver answered loudly, purposefully making sure AC could hear the taunt.

"What?" Victor snapped, his impatience growing.

"Nothing," Oliver dismissed, "just gimme a minute."

At the base of the scaffolding, AC was cursing colourfully under his breath and though Oliver could only catch pieces of what was being said, he was sure that the majority of it was directed at him.

"This is your last chance," he called down. "Don't make me demote you."

He watched the other man's face set in a hard expression; pissed off determination finally trumping apprehension. Reaching out, AC gripped the metal frame tightly, taking one big, shaky breath before he took off climbing. Scrambling up the rungs with a speed Oliver actually found impressive, he quickly arrived at the peak of the structure.

"Bout time," Oliver welcomed, tossing a handcar in AC's direction and shaking his head when the other man's unwillingness to release his death grip on the bars nearly made him miss the catch entirely.

"Right," AC groused as he hooked his arms awkwardly around the railing and started strapping the hand pulley on. "You looked like you were in a real rush to get going when you were up here flirting with Tower."

Oliver shot him a dark look. "You know," he noted, a threat lacing the words, "it won't bother _me _if I start shaking this scaffolding."

AC returned the look ten-fold before muttering his reply. "Can we go? I want this over with."

Knowing they'd already wasted plenty of time, Oliver dropped the rejoinder on the tip of his tongue and instead, manoeuvred around to the front of the scaffolding with easy agility. Reaching over his shoulder once again, he pulled out his bow and hit the handle's trigger, sending the mechanisms whirring as the piece of equipment transformed into a handcar. Taking hold of the taut line, he snapped the bow into place and set the safety over his wrist.

Tossing a look behind him, he grinned confidently at AC. "Don't forget to roll into the landing," he reminded, if only a little patronizingly.

"Impulse was right, you are a douchebag," AC grumbled, waving his hand forward in a gesture Oliver loosely interpreted as _hurry the hell up._

Without further urging, Oliver pushed forward and was instantly flying, a freeing exhilaration shooting through his spine despite the fact that he'd made this flight a hundred times over. Maintaining his form against the rushing air, his eyes stayed focused on the rapidly approaching rooftop, calculating the narrowing distance with every passing second. Nailing the timing, he hit the trigger on his bow at the exact moment the empty gap beneath him disappeared, releasing the line and dropping to execute a perfect landing. His feet sure and steady under him, he pivoted and looked back to his take off point to see AC following suit.

For someone who'd kicked up such a fight, AC was actually pretty goo;, his body aligned and in position as he navigated the line with some obvious skill. Grudgingly admitting to himself that he was going to have to give his teammate kudos for a job well done, Oliver watched as AC flew through the final metres of the descent, only to frown when the other man didn't let go of the line as he passed the building's edge. Knowing there was never going to be enough space for a graceful dismount – and unable to do anything about it – Oliver winced as AC unhooked himself at the last possible second and hit the rooftop in a pile; his momentum rolling him head over feet until he came to a stop against the wall the line was anchored to.

Rushing quickly to AC's side, Oliver checked over the younger man as he helped him scramble to his feet, assuring himself that the only thing that was seriously injured was the ol' Aquaman pride.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," AC hissed embarrassedly, brushing aside Oliver's hands before levelling him with a warning glare. "Say one word and I'm throwing you off the building."

Mouth shut, Oliver raised his hands innocently and waited until AC seemed satisfied before he reached to the communicator in his ear.

"Arrow to Watchtower," he spoke, "we're on the roof."

"Did Aquaman make it okay?" Chloe asked, intuitively concerned.

Oliver quirked a brow in AC's direction, but the only response he got was the same furious glare.

"I'm not allowed to talk about it," he explained vaguely.

"O-kay," Chloe agreed slowly, deciding not to press the matter and instead, opened the com line so she could address the entire team at once.

"Everyone's in position," she announced.

"Finally!" Bart exclaimed. "I'm freakin starving here!"

Glossing over Bart's complaint, Chloe assumed control of the conversation and launched into one final review of the plan they'd hashed out earlier.

"Okay, on my go, Cyborg's gonna hack into the building's security from the main panel," she started. "This system's slick, so we won't be able to disarm the whole thing in one go. Best we can do is get the necessary codes."

"No sweat," Victor assured confidently.

"I'll be monitoring the security company's network to make sure the breach isn't detected, but it'll have to be quick," Chloe elaborated. "Once we've got what we need, Impulse is up."

"Haul ass around the building and use the codes at each of the terminals to open sesame the place," Bart called out, relaying his share of the responsibilities.

"Exactly," Chloe acknowledged. "By taking the alarm down onsite, the security company shouldn't even notice and Riley won't get any warnings."

"Then he's on his own," Oliver noted, not even bothering to hide the intent in his voice.

"Uh, right," Chloe conceded tentatively, her blatant unease echoed by the others' silence. "So Aquaman…"

"Keep Arrow from going Terminator on the mark, got it," AC replied gruffly, his role in the night's mission having been made abundantly clear a few times over.

Oliver rolled exasperated eyes and took in AC's folded arms and no-nonsense stance, knowing his teammate was nowhere near joking around.

"I just want to talk to him," Oliver proclaimed coolly.

"I bet," Chloe offered doubtfully. "Just try to remember that you agreed to a two punch limit. One for you, and one for my ribs."

"I think I deserve at least three or four swings," Oliver observed lightly, getting a guffaw out of Bart at least.

"Two," Chloe ordered seriously. "Riley's not going to do much talking if his jaw's broken."

"Now that we're all clear," Victor spoke up, "can we _please _get started? Unlike the rest of you, I'd like to get out of here while I'm still young."

"Touché," Chloe mused. "Take it away."

The line turned quiet, leaving Oliver and AC to stand at the ready on the empty rooftop as seconds crept by.

"I'm in," Victor declared calmly.

"Clock's ticking," Chloe replied, her voice as measured as Victor's.

Oliver had just reached three mississippis, when Victor began rattling off number combinations.

"Got 'em," Bart confirmed immediately, the open line suddenly humming like a wind tunnel as it picked up the sound of the young man racing through the building's corridors.

Another two beats passed and then Chloe was back, her voice sure with triumph.

"Gentlemen," she proclaimed. "You are good to go."

Needing no other encouragement, Oliver swung open the stairwell door and with AC right on his heels, made quick work of the two small flights that lead to the fourth floor.

Bart was – naturally – already waiting for them and a quick glance down to the end of the long hallway confirmed that Victor had arrived as well. With their collective senses on high alert, they moved soundlessly towards Riley's front door, pausing just outside of it to listen carefully. Unable to discern any cause for concern on the opposite side of the threshold, Oliver gripped the knob and gently turned. When it gave way without protest, he pulled the door wide and held it as his teammates filed through, letting his gaze sweep back and forth down the hallway one last time before following.

Inside, the loft was dim, illuminated only by a few floor lamps and flashes from the massive wall-mounted flat screen that was set to mute. The insanely high ceilings and exposed brick made the space feel cold and empty; the sparse furnishings doing little to alleviate the sensation. Moving to the centre of the room as a group, the four men collectively assessed and dismissed each section of the apartment until Riley's absence became painfully evident.

"We sure this guy's here?" Bart breathed, his voice so low Oliver wondered if he'd actually heard the words or merely read them in the young man's expression.

"Tower said so," He replied resolutely, his tone – though barely audible – leaving no room for second guessing.

Suddenly, Victor's head snapped to the right as his enhanced senses picked out the tell tale signs of an attack before the others.

"Arrow!" He called out, giving Oliver just enough time to drop into a crouch and roll his assailant right over his back and onto the floor with a force that most likely shook the man's bones.

Without hesitation, Oliver shifted his weight forward and let his fist smash a perfect jab upon his attacker's jaw, the impact sending the man's head bouncing off the loft's superbly crafted hardwood.

Straightening, Oliver loomed over the disoriented man, his fingers twitching and clenching reflexively into fists.

"That's one," AC announced, holding his index finger up to Oliver.

Looking over his shoulder, Oliver shot his teammate a smirk. "Self-defense," he countered. "That makes it a freebie."

AC eyed him critically for a moment, but soon enough, his shoulders shrugged carelessly and he gestured for Oliver to carry on.

Eyes travelling back to the man at his feet, Oliver leaned forward menacingly. "Malcolm Riley, I presume?" He drawled humourlessly.

"Don't hurt me," Riley moaned, rolling to his side and raising his arms defensively. "Just take whatever you want."

"Think you've been doing enough of that for both of us," Oliver growled.

"What?" Riley stuttered from behind his arms.

Oliver's jaw clenched angrily and he had to remind himself that he was only going to get two hits on the guy, so he better ration them out.

"Quite the place you've got here," he stated nonchalantly, ignoring Riley's confusion and casting his arms out as he motioned to the extravagant home. "How much of Queen Industries' money did you sink into this?"

"What are you talking about?" Riley exclaimed, lowering his arms to the floor and bracing them there, beginning to lift himself up, only to have Oliver's fist send him right back down.

"Didn't say you could get up," Oliver told him dryly before he glared at AC. "And yes, I know that was one."

"And counting," AC agreed, arms folding over his chest.

Catching a blur in the corner of his eye, Oliver turned back to find Bart crouched next to Riley, just beyond the man's reach.

"Little tip from me to you, amigo," Bart began sarcastically. "Playing dumb is only gonna make your Dentist happy. If you value your bridgework at all, you should start talking."

Riley's eyes passed over the four men who surrounded him, staring at each of them incredulously. "I do work for Queen Industries," he stammered, "but I'm just a security guard there, I don't have anything to do with any money."

Bart let out a disappointed sigh. "I warned you," he told Riley plainly as Oliver darted forward and levelled the man with another blow.

"This might be a good time to tell you that we already know everything," Oliver stated over Riley's groan of pain. "You're through."

The faint sound of a chime caught Oliver's ear, giving him pause. The buzzing grabbed Riley's attention as well and his mournful grunts immediately ceased as his gaze travelled down to his own pants' pocket.

"It's my cell," he explained dumbly.

"Oh well, pardon us," Oliver intoned dryly. "Did you need to get that?"

A slow smile spread across Riley's face as he looked up and eyed Oliver smugly. Letting the cell continue to beep, he braced his arms against the floor and leaned back casually; the picture of relaxation as he crossed his feet at his ankles and embraced a newfound ease with the situation at hand.

"Nah," he replied with a shrug. "Don't need to."

A prickling awareness fanned out across the back of Oliver's neck as he took in the man's unexpected shift in demeanour, some innate sense sounding a warning deep in the pit of his stomach.

"What have you done?" Oliver asked darkly, convinced beyond any doubt that Riley was up to something.

"Me?" Riley questioned, all honest astonishment as he lifted a hand and slapped it over his chest in contrived innocence. "Not a thing."

His eyes never leaving the man stretched out on the floor, Oliver barked out Bart's code name, causing the young man to instantly jump to his feet.

"Do a sweep," Oliver ordered. "Full perimeter. Double time."

"Done and done," Bart nodded, disappearing out of sight only to reappear half a second later at the door, staring at the exit in dumbfounded shock.

"It's locked!" Bart exclaimed, drawing the attention of everyone in the apartment. "I tried the code and everything, but it won't budge."

"Arrow come in," Chloe called abruptly. "Something just happened. The security system just initiated a preset program. I can't get at anything, what's going on?"

"Riley's locked us in," Oliver growled, snapping his head to the side to once again stare at the self-satisfied man in question.

"Is Cyborg able to hack into the interior control panel?" Chloe demanded.

"I'm on it," Victor confirmed, striding across the room to join Bart at the front door.

Tearing the key pad's plastic casing right off the wall and chucking it aside, Victor yanked a long red wire out of its connection and inserted it directly into his forearm.

"Well?" AC checked after a long moment had passed and Victor hadn't said a word.

"I can't get around it," Victor admitted, mouth set in a grim line as his eyes darted accusingly towards Riley. "Every way I try to get in is completely firewalled. My guess is _somebody _knew we were coming."

"Now that's astute," Riley jeered, clapping his hands slowly in mock approval. "Can't get anything past you, huh Robocop?"

"I'm lifting the punching limit," AC tossed out acidly, advancing on Riley. "Everyone should feel free to kick the shit outta this guy."

Oliver threw out an arm across AC's chest, halting the younger man's progress. "Check the windows," he ordered.

"Wouldn't bother," Riley advised, his tone breezy and confident. "Every last one of them is reinforced. They're as solid as rocks."

AC started to advance again, but Oliver's arm stayed firm. "Check anyways," he instructed calmly.

AC's eyes darted back to Riley, but his common sense quickly prevailed and he nodded curtly to Oliver before proceeding across the room to test the large panes of glass that ran along the east side of the loft.

"Watchtower," Oliver called out, "I need you to keep an ear to the wire. We need to know if the security company or the police decide to send out a team to investigate any alerts they might be getting out of here."

"Will do," Chloe confirmed.

"Is that blondie?" Riley asked pointedly, causing Oliver's head to rotate slowly back to him, the prickling along his neck intensifying.

"Tell her I say 'hi'," the man leered. "Real shame she couldn't be here, but you know, a plan's a plan."

Oliver felt his blood run cold as his mind tried to catch up with the revelation his body had already figured out.

"Arrow," Chloe called again, "I'm going to try and – "

"Get out," Oliver breathed.

"Are you talking to me?" Chloe asked, confused. "Did something happen?"

"Chloe, get out of there," Oliver repeated, the tension in his voice coupled with his use of her given name causing Bart, Victor and AC to freeze in their tracks.

"I don't understand," Chloe murmured. "What's going on?"

"It's a trap," Oliver all but shouted, his heart thumping in his throat as his mind raced.

There was a pause on Chloe's end of the line. "That's why I want to try –"

"Not for us, for you!" Oliver exclaimed. "You have to get out of there, now!"

"Okay," Chloe replied, ready to trust Oliver despite the uncertainty she clearly felt. "I'll go get Boy Scout and we'll come get you guys…"

Oliver didn't miss the way her voice faded away.

"Tower?" He demanded.

"I've got company," she whispered. "My security system just went down and I've got three men on the front door surveillance feed."

"Get yourself out of there now!" Oliver roared, fear choking him.

"I can't!" Chloe shouted back. "I've got more at the back entrance, they've got me blocked in!"

"Then figure out another way!" He commanded, desperation welling inside of him.

"I can't!" Chloe repeated.

"Yes, you can," Oliver promised her. "Just do it."

"That's not what I mean," Chloe protested distractedly and judging by the faint clicking sounds Oliver could hear from her end, he knew she'd set off on one of her computers. "We have no idea who these people are, but if they get at these computers, they'll know everything about us."

"Forget the computers!" Oliver yelled in disbelief. "I need you safe!"

"None of us will be safe if I hand this information over on a silver platter," Chloe hollered back, her voice shaking. "Now, tell Cyborg to sit down, I've got an idea."

Oliver was ready to start yelling again, but Victor was at his side, cutting him off as he spoke to Chloe directly. "Talk to me Tower."

"I've gotta dump these hard drives," Chloe explained hurriedly, the words catching on her hitching breath.

"And you need a trash can," Victor concluded, reading her thoughts.

"I would never call you that, but yeah, that's kinda what I need," Chloe replied weakly before laying out her plan. "These files are going to come at you fast and furious, so there's a really good chance your circuits will overload, hence the sitting down. I don't want you doing a face plant on top of everything else that's going on."

Victor dropped to the floor without hesitation, his faith in Chloe implicit. "Go," he ordered simply.

At once, Victor's body went stiff and his eyes rolled back in his head, his sudden paralysis dropping him to his side.

"He'll be okay," Chloe guaranteed, but the statement sounded more like an exertion of her own will than a certainty. "Once his program catches up with the download, he should reboot."

"What about you?" Oliver questioned, his voice raw.

"They're at the door to the control room," Chloe said, her voice fragile with restrained fear, the sound of it cutting deep into Oliver. "Whatever equipment they're using on the security panel is working fast. They're going to get in soon."

Spinning to find Riley still seated on the floor, taking in the developing events with silent fascination, Oliver crossed the space between them in two strides and fuelled by rage, hauled the large man to his feet by his throat.

"Call them off of her now!" Oliver snarled, his fingers tightening into the flesh around Riley's windpipe.

"What makes you think I'm calling the shots?" Riley croaked. "Would I have locked myself in here with you if I was running this thing?"

Frenzied by his inability to stop what was happening, Oliver found the only outlet he could as he drew back and hit Riley with a blow that rendered the man unconscious.

"There's only one computer left," Chloe announced, quietly resigned. "I'm going to lose the com as soon as it finishes."

"Chloe, listen to me," Oliver bit out, releasing Riley and letting the man's prone figure crumple to the floor. "Whatever happens, don't give up. Do you hear me? You can't give up."

"I won't," she promised.

"I'm coming to get you," he vowed.

"I know," she replied.

Then the line went dead.


	16. The Exception to the Rules Part 16

**Part 16: The Man Behind the Curtain**

**

* * *

**

His chest felt hollow. His heart was still and motionless, seized by the stranglehold fear had it trapped in. His empty lungs were howling desperately for air. In his ear, static filtered out of the useless communicator, the shrill buzz piercing his head and stabbing viciously at his brain. He couldn't move. He couldn't see. She was gone.

All at once, panic exploded within the cavern his ribs surrounded, the razor-sharp emotion slicing and clawing its way from the inside out as reality sunk in and everything became way too real.

Reaching up, he wrenched the screaming communicator out of his ear and with a guttural yell, heaved the tiny device clear across the room. It smacked against the opposing wall with a crack and split in two, leaving a distinct dent in the smooth surface as the broken pieces dropped to the hardwood and skittered off in opposite directions.

The damage wasn't nearly good enough, so he bent forward and grabbed up a mahogany coloured ottoman, his fingers practically tearing into the soft, buttery leather as he hurled the furnishing at the wall with another deafening growl. Rather than bouncing off its target like the ear piece, the ottoman crashed through in a cloud of plaster dust, hanging from the sizable hole it had created until gravity tipped it back towards the floor and it pulled itself loose to land with a hard, shaking thud.

Not even stopping to take in the destruction, he moved on to the ottoman's matching armchair, its awkward size and structure barely slowing him down as tense muscles coiled through his forearms and prepared to launch the piece of furniture.

"Arrow!" Bart hollered angrily, materializing right in the path Oliver intended to throw the chair down. "Get a fucking grip!"

Shocked still, he stared at his teammate, the younger man's pained features mirroring the panic he felt coursing through his own body, the same despair eating them both alive.

"I know Chloe would appreciate the sentiment and all," Bart ground out tightly, gesturing at the chair Oliver still gripped firmly in his arms, "but redecorating won't help her."

He nodded vaguely, sucking up huge gulps of air as his body tried to catch up with his brain, the physical reaction he was experiencing proving hard to beat.

"You have to get it together," Bart pleaded, his voice wavering slightly.

He squeezed his eyes shut and was struck by the image of Chloe sheltered in his arms right after her run-in with Jimmy Olsen just a few days ago. She was staring up at him brokenly, green eyes clouded with tears and small hands pressed flat against his chest, needing him to help her, but too proud to ever ask.

He forced his eyes open and dropped the chair from his grasp, forgetting it completely as it hit the floor and lolled brokenly to its side.

"We gotta get Clark," he croaked out, shaking his head as he finally wrestled the pain into submission. "We can't get to her locked up here. He'll be able to find her."

Rising from his kneeling position next to an unconscious Victor, AC spoke up tensely.

"I've already checked the phones," he began. "I don't know how they're doing it, but we're not getting any kind of signal in here." At his own words, AC's eyes swung to Malcolm Riley's prone figure. "This asshole got a message though," he muttered as he crossed the space quickly and reached down to fish the man's phone out of his pocket.

Waiting anxiously, Oliver watched as AC flipped the device open and began punching at the keys.

"Dammit!" The younger man snarled after a moment. "It's locked!"

Cursing, Oliver scrubbed a hand roughly over his head, casting off his hood as he tried to think straight. It couldn't be like this. He wouldn't let it.

Suddenly, the chirping sound that had started the whole mess in the first place fired up once again, causing both Oliver and Bart to snap around and stare at the cell that was now vibrating in AC's hand.

Expression hard, AC looked down and studied the display screen before he met his teammates' eyes. "Blocked call," he announced tightly, answering their unspoken question.

Jaw ticking wildly, Oliver reached out a hand and AC automatically lobbed the cell in his direction. In one fluid movement, he snatched the phone out of the air, flipped it open and raised it to his ear.

He was met by silence, but then a beat passed and a distorted voice was greeting him.

"Hello Oliver."

He swallowed hard, fully grasping just how seriously fucked they were. His first instinct was to start making threats he would gladly carry out, but he forced himself to clamp down on the urge; the fact that the mystery caller knew his name – knew him – leaving him scrambling to keep whatever cards he had left close to his chest.

"Sorry, think you've got the wrong number," he spit out succinctly, praying his own voice distorter was doing a good enough job of masking his fear and uncertainty.

"I'm sure I don't," the voice replied and despite its mechanical warping, Oliver swore the words were accompanied by a ruthless smile.

Fighting for composure, he willed himself to calm down and racked his brain for a way to bait the caller into giving him something he could use.

"If you're looking for Riley," he began caustically, his eyes darting to the unconscious heap off to the side, "he can't come to the phone right now. Seems his glass jaw couldn't take the punching."

There was a snicker on the other end. "What a coincidence," the voice drawled. "I've got a pretty blonde in the same state."

They'd hurt her. That knowledge nearly took him out at the knees.

"She is alive though," the caller continued blandly, effortlessly interpreting Oliver's loaded silence. "Provided you do as you're told, I'll let her stay that way."

"What do you want?" Oliver bit out, silently promising himself that he would hunt this bastard down and make him suffer.

"Queen Industries," the voice answered simply. "All of it."

Oliver's eyes widened with excruciating clarity as everything this past week – the mystery warehouse, the Wnylie Group, even the paparazzi photos – clicked into place and he realized it had all been part of something so much bigger than he could have ever imagined. Suddenly, the person he wanted to hurt was himself.

He'd been blinded by arrogance and convinced that the upper hand was always his, taking on this case like he already had it locked down. He hadn't suspected anything, he didn't pay enough attention. Like an idiot, he'd walked himself into the middle of this disaster and if that wasn't bad enough, he'd taken Chloe right along with him.

"Who are you?" He shouted, too furious and too frantic to care about anything but making sure his stupid mistakes didn't cost Chloe her life.

The caller went quiet; the line thick with his pause and Oliver's rasping breath.

"You know," the distorted voice finally began slowly, "the fact that you haven't figured any of this out is remarkably disappointing. There was a time when your intuition was something worth boasting about."

Though vague, the statement set Oliver's insides churning, something about the words smacking with dreadful familiarity.

"Who are you?" He repeated lowly, grinding each word past clenched teeth.

The other end of the line went back to deathly silence and for one horrible second, Oliver thought the caller had hung up, but a faint click caught his ear and he listened as the voice spoke up again, this time, without the distorter.

"You know exactly who I am."

His chest went hollow once more, betrayal leaving him gutted where he stood.

"Mitchell?" He rasped in disbelief, his sudden exclamation of his head of security's name drawing both AC and Bart nearer.

"Sorry if I don't applaud this overdue stroke of astuteness," Mitchell intoned acidly. "All things considered, you should have seen this coming a long time ago."

His head throbbed and his body felt exhausted as he tried to fight through his own shock, trying to wrap his brain around the fact that a man he trusted – a man he considered a mentor – had turned on him.

"How could you do this?" He breathed wearily.

"C'mon Oliver," Mitchell chided scathingly. "You know the first rule of business as well as I do. This isn't personal."

"The hell it isn't," Oliver growled.

"It isn't," Mitchell pressed firmly. "This is me, fulfilling my intentions from day one. Did you really think I _enjoyed _handing QI over to you when you finally decided to get your shit together?"

"It's my company," Oliver barked. "My father may have entrusted it to you, but he _always _meant for it to belong to me."

"Yes, well, your father may have wanted that at the time," Mitchell countered, "but had he known how you planned on wasting most of your life, he probably would have reconsidered that decision."

Oliver choked on the bitterness that flooded him. "My transgressions don't change my last name," he bit out.

"They make you undeserving," Mitchell snapped. "Even now, you may have given up the jet set but the company still isn't your priority. How do your think the board members would feel if they knew you were out every night playing vigilante?"

Oliver could tell the cell phone was straining under the force of his tightening grip.

"You wanna threaten me and my reputation, fine," he seethed. "I have no problem taking you on, but you leave Chloe out of this."

Mitchell chuckled. "And scrap this entire plan?" He questioned disdainfully. "I don't think so. Unlike you, I've played this perfectly and I don't have any reason to throw in the towel. You've got nothing Oliver, and me, I've got the ultimate blonde bargaining chip."

"You won't hurt her," Oliver ground out knowingly. "If you do, you won't get a thing. You won't risk that."

"Are you sure?" Mitchell taunted. "Let's try to remember that you didn't expect _any _of this, so maybe you shouldn't attempt to predict what I will and won't do."

Suffocating on his own rage and paralysed by doubt, Oliver went mute.

"This is about what _you're_ willing to risk," Mitchell finished, letting his comment hang between them before continuing.

"Now pay attention," he ordered scornfully. "In two minutes, Riley's apartment will unlock. From that moment, you'll have one hour to get to the roof of Queen Towers. I'll be waiting there with Miss Sullivan and a stack of papers for you to sign."

Oliver could feel his breathing picking up again, the air passing in and out of his lungs faster and faster and faster.

"Don't bother trying anything," Mitchell warned. "You should realize by now that I've got all my bases covered. Don't bring your three little dress-up buddies and don't assume you know this building better than me, because you don't."

"I'm going to kill you," Oliver promised lowly, his voice grave, the threat serious.

"I have a gun to Miss Sullivan's head that says otherwise," Mitchell revealed. "Decide exactly what you're prepared to live with, and without. I'll see you in one hour."

He heard the line click closed, but wasn't able to lower the phone until the dial tone started blaring into his ear drum. Closing the cell with stiff fingers, he pressed it between his palms and felt the plastic casing bend and give under the pressure.

"Arrow?" AC ventured, both he and Bart staring at their leader in edgy bewilderment.

"I'm good," Oliver spit out, releasing his hands and letting the cell crash to the floor.

"What's the plan?" Bart prodded restlessly.

His face stoic, Oliver turned to his friends. "As soon as Victor comes to, you guys are gonna turn Riley into the police," he replied curtly, his expression uncomfortably impassive.

Sputtering, Bart started to object, but AC slapped a heavy hand to the younger man's shoulder, cutting him off abruptly.

"And you?" AC demanded slowly.

Oliver held his teammate's stare, his eyes unwavering.

"I'm going to get Chloe back."

"How?" AC pushed.

"Whatever it takes," he answered quietly.


	17. The Exception to the Rules Part 17

**Part 17: Kidnapping Clichés**

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* * *

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"You have to wake up."

It wasn't so much the words being said as it was the warm familiarity of the voice speaking them that tugged her slowly from sleep. Shifting slightly, her groggy brain waffled back and forth between her desire for more rest and her want of wakefulness; both options holding happy appeal.

"C'mon Sidekick, you have to wake up."

His voice rumbled, low and deep, the gentle chiding delightfully thick in her ears. In front of others, his use of that nickname was grounds for an eye roll, but here - in the last remnants of sleep - she was unconsciously honest so she smiled charmingly, openly enjoying the term of endearment she had come to cherish.

The pad of his thumb landed delicately upon the corner of her mouth, his touch faint as he began tracing her curved lips. She puffed out a tiny, approving breath as the light contact sent tingles through her skin, the sensation encouraging her heavy lids to finally flutter open.

His dark eyes were the first thing she saw, lingering along the line of her jaw and the arch of her cheekbone as he watched her wake, his gaze peaceful and content. He hovered just above her, muscled arms braced at her shoulders and his drifting thumb absently moving to stroke the planes of her face. Against her head, she could feel his other hand; tender fingers threading languidly through her hair.

"Hi," she whispered drowsily, reaching up to cup his chin, her own thumb trailing over to his dimple and resting there affectionately.

"You have to wake up," he said again, his lips hitching into that grin she was so fond of.

Her nose scrunched with playful distaste. "I know, I know," she giggled, stretching her legs beneath the cover of his body and finding the feel of her limbs flexing against his wholly delicious.

"You have to wake up."

She felt a frown crawl gradually across her face, his strange repetitiveness confusing her. "Ollie," she began soothingly, "I am awake."

His smile was small, but loving as he leaned towards her and closed the distance between their lips, his kiss so filled with promises and secrets just for the two of them that it made her ache. Blind to everything but him, her eyelids fell closed once again and she sighed.

"Chloe," he breathed against her mouth, "wake up."

Heaving a strangled sob, her eyes burst wide open and every nerve in her body flinched, her disoriented mind grasping at the fact that she was awake for real _now_.

Inexplicably panicked, she sat up quickly and immediately regretted the decision. Pain exploded through her left cheek, cutting straight through to the back of her scalp and causing her eye to throb as if it were about to split in half. Gasping at the onslaught, she crumpled against the small couch she found herself upon and slammed her eyes closed as she tried to fight off the waves of nausea that were rolling through her stomach.

With the flood of pain came her disjointed memories of what had happened: The sudden turn of events at Malcolm Riley's apartment, Oliver's final words to her, the butt end of a gun connecting sickeningly with her face as masked men stormed the control room…

Drawing slow breaths in through her nose she forced her body to get used to the pulsating discomfort it was suffering from, finding a shred of relief in the knowledge that her agony seemed to be confined to her cheek and head. Slowly, her stuttering inhales became smoother and stronger as a desperately needed rush of adrenalin finally kicked in to help her through.

Peeling her eyes open wearily, she waited until the room stopped spinning before she surveyed it carefully. Though the space was dark, lights from the sprawling cityscape poured in through the large windows that stretched along the far wall, allowing her to make out her surroundings.

She was in an office.

Glancing from the polished furnishings, to the pictures that adorned the walls, to the mammoth desk positioned smack dab in the middle, she immediately recognized where she was.

She was in Oliver's office at Queen Towers.

"What the hell…?" She mumbled distractedly, the surrealism of her situation making her question if she was as awake as she'd initially thought.

Before her sluggish brain could even take a crack at sifting through her bewilderment, the office door was thrown open with a force that made her jump clear out of her skin. Her head snapped around at the sudden intrusion and the quick movement instantly proved unwise as the excruciating pounding in her skull surged.

"Miss Sullivan," Mitchell Edwards greeted, his voice full of feigned cheerfulness as he stalked purposefully into the room. "You're awake. How delightfully prompt of you."

Desperately confused, she could only stare at first, wishing for all the world that her head would just stop hurting for one minute so she could figure out what was going on. The focus she needed came fast and sharp when her eyes caught sight of the gun Mitchell gripped loosely in his right hand, its presence making everything entirely too clear.

Darting looks at the weapon he carried, she watched as Mitchell marched over to Oliver's desk and dropped a thick document upon the gleaming surface, the stack of papers landing with a thud that echoed through the hollow room. Though this was undoubtedly the same man she'd had the misfortune of meeting at the gala, there was no mistaking the dramatic shift in his countenance. Gone was the uncomfortable awkwardness and stern manners, replaced with the kind of arrogance and cool self-assurance that made her flesh crawl. The uneasiness he had caused her during their introduction quickly morphed to total disdain and she cursed the fact that she'd only ever considered him a mere nuisance, never an actual threat.

Noticing her constant glances at the gun, his expression turned playful as he raised the firearm and displayed it mockingly. "Head injury or not," he jeered, "I trust you have enough sense to know that staying put is your best bet right now."

Her lips set into a thin line as she ignored his comment and stared at him accusingly, her prolonged silence only serving to make his smirk widen.

"C'mon now Chloe," he scoffed condescendingly. "I was really hoping for a better reaction than this."

Her glare narrowed as her teeth started grinding, the pain in her head growing insignificant compared to the feeling of her blood boiling furiously in her veins.

"Other than telling you that you're going to pay dearly for this," she declared lowly. "I have nothing to say to you."

"Really?" He chuckled, sauntering over to one of the leather chairs that faced Oliver's desk and dragging the furnishing towards her before taking a seat. "And who exactly is going to issue up my punishment," he asked scornfully. "Oliver or the Green Arrow?"

The fact that he mentioned Oliver and his alter ego in the same breath had her heated blood running cold. Instantly recognizing the attempt to lure her into divulging things she shouldn't, she reigned in her emotions and clamped her mouth closed once more, settling on staring at him contemptuously.

He met her hatred with a sneer. "Don't hold back on my account," he encouraged, disgustingly pleased with himself, "I already know everything."

She tilted her head thoughtfully, making a big production of sizing him up before laughing dismissively. "I don't think you do," she replied plainly.

He took her doubt in stride, leaning back slowly in his chair as he studied her closely. "I knew where to find you tonight," he pointed out casually, "and I knew that you'd be all by your lonesome."

Refusing to play his game, she stayed annoyingly unresponsive, her silent treatment garnering his grin.

"I can't believe that _you're _not the slightest bit interested," he needled. "Aren't you just a little curious to know why I'm doing this?"

"Please," she admonished bitingly. "Is this the part where you detail your evil plan? Seeing as I already have a headache, how about you spare me the cliché."

He laughed outright and his amusement had her jaw locking tensely. "You and Oliver really are cut from the same cloth, aren't you?" He noted dryly, relaxing further into his chair.

"I'll take that as a compliment," she snipped.

"Trust me, it wasn't meant as one," Mitchell drawled humourlessly. "I can assure you that your confidence in him is misguided."

"Pretty strong criticism from a kidnapper," she snarked back. "You are aware that what you're doing here is illegal, right?"

His brows quirked at her as he propped an elbow on his chair's armrest and settled his chin into his palm, looking at her incredulously. "You want to get into legalities with me?" He questioned pointedly. "What was it you were up to in that makeshift command centre of yours again? Oh that's right, coordinating a break and enter."

"Now there's a wild accusation," she retaliated. "Got any kind of proof to back that up?"

His taunting expression faded ever so slightly as her words gave him pause. "Sadly, no," he replied. "All of the computers were wiped clean."

The grin that spread across her lips never met her eyes, but it served its purpose.

"Nicely done with that, by the way," he complimented insincerely.

She shrugged innocently. "I couldn't possibly know what you mean."

He snorted derisively at her bland reply. "Be sure not to hurt yourself patting your own back," he warned, shifting in his seat to stretch his legs out comfortably, his nonchalance picking apart the momentary triumph she'd been enjoying. "Having those computer files would have just been a bonus," he sniffed carelessly. "I already got what I needed courtesy of _your_ visit to my warehouse."

She tried to keep her expression neutral, but his cruel smirk was all the confirmation she needed to know that he'd seen her eyes widen at his words.

"Starting to get a little interested?" He goaded.

Her throat was tight as she choked on realization, the taste bitter in her mouth. "Riley doesn't own the Wynlie Group," she asserted quietly, hating herself for missing all of this, for not figuring any of it out. "You do."

"In a manner of speaking," Mitchell agreed. "I'm the one who controls the funds, but the paper trail points firmly at Riley. You'd be amazed what people are willing to sign when you put enough money in front of them."

She shook her head in disbelief. "Does he even know what he's sitting on?" She questioned acidly.

"Maybe," Mitchell shrugged, unconcerned. "Like the rest of them, he's not smart enough to take advantage of the situation. He just takes his lump sum and does as he's told."

"_The rest of them_?" She stuttered.

"Riley isn't the Wynlie Group's first _owner_," Mitchell laughed. "Over the years I've moved it around to different Queen Industries' employees. Some I paid to take it under their name, others never had a clue."

She could feel her heart hammering in her chest, thinking of the hours she'd spent trying to sort out the paperwork on the Wynlie Group, sickened by this revelation that the company's bouncing from owner to owner had been a deliberate ploy to hide what was really going on. A ploy she'd fallen for hook, line and sinker.

She swallowed hard. "How far back does this go?" She demanded, dreading the answer as she watched him brace his arms across his knees and lean forward in his chair, eager to address the question he'd been waiting for.

"The day I handed QI over to Oliver was the Wynlie Group's first day of _business_."

Chloe felt numb. He'd been doing this for _years_ and in all of that time, no one - not her, not Oliver, none of the guys – had ever thought to so much as look.

"At first it was just for the money," Mitchell elaborated, hardly needing Chloe's prompting to willingly share his story. "After Robert and Laura died, I spent the best years of my life building QI into an empire. There was no way I was going to let some spoiled punk just waltz in and take my job without an appropriate _fuck you_."

She sucked in an angry breath, hating Mitchell more and more as she imagined all of the times Oliver must have gone to this man for advice and guidance, all the while never realizing he was being stabbed in the back.

"But then something strange happened," he continued, his tone recapturing Chloe's attention. "Out of nowhere, this Robin Hood wannabe starts committing thefts all over Star City, exposing the corruption, taking down these massive corporations single-handedly, the full-out, _robbing the rich to give to the poor _thing."

Mitchell chuckled knowingly. "I figured my number was up," he admitted. "The guy was nailing everything crooked in town and I knew it was only a matter of time until he took me down. But you know what happened?"

Chloe stared at him hard, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of hearing her ask him for his explanation, but he was unfazed by her non-compliance and merely leaned back into his chair once more as his eyes danced with mirth.

"Absolutely nothing," he finished.

Chloe's brows lowered and it was more than enough of a response for Mitchell.

"I mean, think about it!" He urged, his mood becoming strangely giddy. "This vigilante, who's whole M.O. was cleaning up the streets and shutting down every kind of criminal, never once batted an eye in my direction."

A smug smile stretched over his face. "That got me thinking about the man behind the mask," he boasted. "I realized that the costume and the theatrics were just a way to hide who he really was."

Chloe tried to hide the way her breath was hitching.

"I started tracking his movements," Mitchell went on, taking full advantage of the opportunity to finally lay everything out. "I tried to find some sort of rhyme or reason to what he was doing, but the only pattern that came out was that he never went anywhere near QI, despite the fact that I was still funnelling money into a dummy corporation."

His eyes swept around Oliver's office, stopping to stare disdainfully at certain objects as if they'd played a part in keeping the secret from him.

"I lost _months_ trying to figure what kind of connection the asshole had to this place," he murmured hatefully. "Then one day, it just happened. Oliver walked in, back from one of his mysterious out of townmeetings, sporting another weird collection of bruises and it all hit me. Just like that, I knew."

Chloe could feel her insides churning as she listened to Mitchell in horrified fascination, her head feeling like it might bust apart. The knowledge that the man sitting across from her was poised to destroy what she held so dear made her physical pain seem so minor.

"You can't prove any of this," she breathed, praying she was right.

Mitchell smirked, clearly enjoying the distress he was causing her. "I couldn't then," he acknowledged, "but I can now, thanks to you."

She felt the colour drain from her cheeks.

"I knew if I dangled the Wynlie Group out there long enough, he'd bite," Mitchell continued. "He had his head too far up his ass to see what was really going on, but I made sure that the group's dealings became suspect enough to at least pique his interest."

The satisfied smirk he wore slowly spread into a predatory smile. "I have to admit," he drawled, "I really didn't know how I was going to leverage it all to my advantage, but it was the only shot I had to trap him. I never expected him to make it so easy though."

"Riley was able to identify me," she rasped, knowing she was right as a tear slipped down her cheek before she could catch it.

"Putting a name to your face was ridiculously simple," he confirmed callously. "Former reporter, mile-long hospital record, a couple noteworthy mentions in police files… Riley may not be good for much, but he had you ID'd in ten minutes flat."

Suffocating guilt filled her chest as her mind played over her exchange with Oliver before they broke into the warehouse, her arguments against the need to shield her identity ringing in her ears.

"After that," he chuckled, "it was all just a matter of following you. I only had to see the pictures of the two of you together to know that you were my ticket to getting what I wanted."

Her eyes squeezed closed as she grimaced. "You sent the pictures to the gossip site," she surmised through clenched teeth.

Mitchell waved a hand vaguely. "Petty, I know," he accepted, "but it was the perfect distraction for your little crew. My guys were able to clear out the warehouse in broad daylight and none of you were the wiser."

Her hands were shaking as she gripped the couch she sat on, barely holding it together as failure threatened to drown her. She couldn't believe how quickly it was all unravelling, couldn't accept that the pitiful excuse for a man no more than six feet away from her was going to be the League's undoing.

"So, what happens now," she whispered disgustedly, glaring daggers at Mitchell.

His eyes went to the thick document he'd deposited on Oliver's desk upon his arrival. "Now I make a trade," he replied simply. "You – more or less in one piece – for complete control of Queen Industries."

Chloe blinked in surprise before the short, harsh laugh escaped her. "Are you really that stupid?" She growled bluntly. "Oliver's not giving you his family's company. He's not going to make that deal. Hell, _I _wouldn't make that deal and I'm the one with the vested interest here!"

Mitchell laughed maliciously at her. "Now who's being cliché?" He ridiculed, rising smoothly to his feet and pacing towards her, his advance sending her scurrying back until she was flush against the couch. "I saw you two at the gala with my own eyes," he told her lowly, bracing his free arm next to her shoulder so he could loom over her. "I don't have to wonder what you're worth to him. I saw it every time he looked at you. I heard it in his voice when I told him I had you."

Her eyes snapped around at his words to stare up at him.

"That's right," he mused. "I've already placed my ransom demand with the man himself." He straightened to his full height and pulled back the cuff of his jacket to glance at his rolex. "And on that note," he stated blithely, "it's just about time for us to get going."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," Chloe hissed, her chin jutting defiantly.

Mitchell's head rotated slowly towards her, his mouth setting into a grim line as he took in her insolence. Without warning, his hand shot out towards her and gripped her arm painfully, hauling her easily off of the couch and onto her feet. She threw out her free arm, fighting against him in an effort to escape, but the feel of something hard ramming into her ribs stilled her instantly.

"I'm not worth a thing to you if you kill me," she hissed, wincing as he kept the gun roughly pressed into her side. Her heart was beating double-time and her breathing was getting more and more laboured, but she pushed past her fear, forcing herself to stay calm.

"True," Mitchell grinned, slowly moving the gun from her side and trailing it across her chest until it came to rest against her shoulder. "But I can think of a few places that will bleed out slow enough that you'll technically still be alive for our rendezvous with Oliver."

Chloe's eyes dropped away from his glare to stare at the floor through frightened tears.

"That's what I thought," he snarled, pulling her towards the office door by the arm he had captured in his grasp. "Now, if you're quite through, let's not keep Ollie waiting."


End file.
